123

She needed to give
and in so needing
would have liked to be able
to receive
Did it matter?
and if so, why?
Having control
was the reason
A large poem
next to a green
growing vine
a trumpet, triumphant
purple, beautiful
whatever it meant
Carried her
away, currents
the red spots
the brown bruises
the juicy
fluids
Afterwards
never again–
the beautiful
the flora
the fauna
the fabulous
the
Empty

This entry was published on 04.4.14 at 9:17 am. It’s filed under automatic writing, creative writing, journal entry, poetry, prose poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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