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when they took your bed away
by Brynn Dizackour aches grew like beans;
rampant--
three weeks barely
suspended
above the ground,
on a ship that won't hold air,,
our hips
ploughing long grooves
in the floor.
all sirens and
clouds
in the night-time,,
the bellbirds at your window,
our vile silences.
or these:
to tie, or, to take?
stand up,
come inside,,
our faux fucking, &
the rain in splinters outside.
perhaps nothing is not a re-telling.
08/07/2009 Posted on 08/07/2009
Copyright © 2024 Brynn Dizack
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Johnny Crimson on 11/23/09 at 12:27 PM perhaps nothing is.. I'm very happy I discovered your work today. Needed it. Thanks. |
| Posted by Ava Blu on 01/23/11 at 09:08 PM "our faux f.ucking, &
the rain in splinters outside.
perhaps nothing is not a re-telling."
^ yes |
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