Feeling

 

My rough shorthand traces

an articulate heart,

Silver trails snail across

And around this wonder-ment,

Throbbing life,

Marvellous distribution 

of life.



No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

the ai goes out for breakfast

  They/it/hier  slips through the door behind a blurry eyed early  morning customer and slides into a little wooden chair at the back of the...

  • Epilogue
    Jolie Laide There she hangs, his masterpiece and her own, Immortalised in paint, painted over until, A finished moment masks all tha...
  • What she had become - a beginning
      Her beating heart, so tired now, nerves worn thin with worrying, Her legs, led her, running on empty, to the place where she could rest ; ...