the rose mill
poetry and essays of peter graves roberts
Thursday, October 11, 2012
still chasing, but now for no reason i know
with eyes half open
and fists still clinched
and hoarse for no reason
something had bumped us
and gotten away
and i chased but
just screamed at
cracks in lined pavement
that ran away as
i woke.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Newer Post
Older Post
Home
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment