Friday, July 15, 2011

poem for a porch.


Her plastic body, filled with dirt
just birthed a baby flower.

The summer sun she bathes upon
gets brighter every hour.

A brittle vessel, filled with seeds
that never feel cool air.

This lucky one, born of a thumb
will wait for solar flares.
at

3 comments:

  1. TomJuly 15, 2011 at 4:56 PM

    that is a wee bit creepy

    in a good way

    ReplyDelete
  2. flux biota.July 18, 2011 at 5:16 AM

    well, it isn't the first time I've been called creepy in a good way.

    ReplyDelete
  3. flux biota.July 18, 2011 at 1:50 PM

    yargh. oh, yeah. the poem is written about a dirt filled doll i found in a lake.

    ReplyDelete