We write poetry
sometimes.
Friday, March 13, 2015
Rip Van Winkle
There are always layers I forget when I sink
into my invulnerable bones. I’m peeling white
paint and my buttery heart next to the magnolia
tree in the future city
—
in our New Republic.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Newer Post
Older Post
Home
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment