Books
Poetry/Lyrics
Essays
Childless
Splintered oak.
Dust and lead.
Grains inside
your curves instead.
Limp dead webs
of spiders gone.
a breeze of surgeons
alcohol.
It hurts us somewhere
to see a child,
with some new mother, smile.
It hurts us somewhere.
Look away.
Collect the dolls and cats, and pray.
Rusted, broken.
Sad and raw.
What was so normal
is no more.
|
