Thursday, February 21, 2013

Sleeping On The Scapegoat Train

Nigh into the night
we gnaw at karats
in remorse of the bunnies
that whisked away into
the tornado clouds.

Tell me if I am doing it again.
You know, that thing with my lips...
oh yeah talking. I don't like it.
Ask me kindly to stop.
I wish to sleep
in fragments of a poem.

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