Tuesday, 10 March 2015

gypsy winged soul

through our disturbing
we climbed through
me with cracked walls and
beneath my chin i see.
their station wagon words
are free; forest green eyes.
two worlds colliding, crying
crystal tolerance in between
their theory of us;
i am an archaeologist untamed.
i am your naked pages of truth and
white; gypsy winged soul.


this will be my last poem

so that i remember. because before melted steel, there was hand-made, better, buttered words. we can decide if new spaces beneath me can qui...