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learningtobefree

Published: Mar 22, 2015

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Winter breath

autumnwind2301

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Literature

57-70-55

Your hand is holding a match to a string of ants and naming each one as it fizzles away. I gathered your rusty heartbreak trapped somewhere on 57-70-55 and there’s a rhythm even in your melancholy. What do you do when a blazing ant lands on your toe? I bet you’d jump, or set your own ears on fire. Come to think of it, my right ear is throbbing from the match you struck against it. You are a toothless dagger and somewhere, maybe in your wine glass or the trunk of your car, I’m sure I could find an apology worth tasting. Will a time exist, even a semblance of it, in which we are no longer here?

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i hear the thunder rolling in

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In Which I Finally Find A Good Man

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hate love miss please poetry skin spoken word guitar27 learningtobefree back art come

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Comments3

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artin2007

Sep 18, 2015

Actually, you-know-what
depends on the poems
and what they do
and... you-know-what
depends on the girl
believe it or not
Trust me
other poets do not
want someone else's
and you-know-what
depends on a poem
being poetic
carrying
justification
in every line

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