Poems of myself
rarely find their way to sky.
Heroes stuck in clay,
feet marching, lonely in place,
like little masturbations.
(moon: etocz.com: bear/sneakers: pxleyes.com)
Poems of myself
rarely find their way to sky.
Heroes stuck in clay,
feet marching, lonely in place,
like little masturbations.
(moon: etocz.com: bear/sneakers: pxleyes.com)
What a title!!!!!
It came to me as I was falling asleep, thinking about the difference between an ego-based poem and the real thing. I woke up enough to write it down. So, I still had it this morning.