the days grow colder mixed angels sing a lullaby i cannot get enough of the wind breathing across my chapped lips. fitness grows on devil wings the work justifies the end i cannot concentrate on twenty-three things at once so i'm forced to grow and grow and grow.
11/02/2007
Posted on 11/02/2007Copyright © 2024 Jared Fladeland
I hate to disagree with Chris, whose poetry I love, but I think that the choppiness of the poem is lyrical and illustrates the "cannot concentrate" to a t. But then, I'm scattered when I cannot concentrate. ;) I love this.
