where art comes alive
(pink cored lava clouds,
you’ll be in time.)
bump cat tick tack,
bumb cat arson attack
I…I….I…
(I.)
prying colors from my teeth
I sit, sparkle all over, with
my benched-thought trial
flung behind my back
when I gave up.
This is hot. Do you mean the photo to be somewhat ironic? Despite its bright colors (flirting with fiery clouds?) and turbulent textures, it seems tepid and Hallmarkish compared to the images and music of this poem.
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1 comment:
This is hot. Do you mean the photo to be somewhat ironic? Despite its bright colors (flirting with fiery clouds?) and turbulent textures, it seems tepid and Hallmarkish compared to the images and music of this poem.
Post a Comment