The want to know what I've been writing,
so I tell them.
.....
There were more blackouts
this week than normal.
And tonight,
when I laid in the grass,
I felt my hand touch a withered
dandelion stalk and mistook it
for someone next to me.
I suppose a more proper title would
be "What I am not writing."
Because in all honesty, the poems
exist in what I
leave out.
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i like this,
ReplyDeletewhat i really really liked was your one minute poem yesterday, i think i know why too, but i'd like to see/hear it again.