Remembering Old News

Now,
Everything I’ve ever done
(and ever said) is
congealed around
your thighs,

Every book
I’d said I’d read
(but never read),
a problematic
foetus,

A blinkered world,
Unspoken of.

This entry was posted on November 15, 2012 by insidethebirdcage. It was filed under Poetry, Writing and was tagged with poetry.

woodylanes

Life itself is a problematic foetus methinks. One is never fully formed and expelled except in death. Morbid ? I know ) Nice work! Fam

Sent from my iPhone

December 14, 2012 at 2:16 pm

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