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editing
by Charlie Morganbubbles burst with humor over the land;
typewriters stirring liquid pain.
drink-cups filled brimless; we lug
our past like tomorrow needs it.
we chase our story, our stares jerking;
editing our past in worrisome thoughts.
leaving the hatchet still buried, bole
not-yet severed from the breast of earth.
grassy fields, laquered with abundance send
words to fill the cavity with visions.
in the huddle with your pain, making plans.
your bubble arrives. you take a window seat. 09/29/2007 Posted on 09/29/2007
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by A. Paige White on 09/29/07 at 08:16 PM Once again, you are JUST what I needed to read. So glad you are who you are and you write like you do! |
| Posted by Shonda Chrissonberry on 09/30/07 at 12:05 AM chaz my man...this one really surprised me ~ i was not expecting this at all....made me think and i like to think ~ thanks for the moment :) |
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