The Emergence of Emergen(cy sons)
THe SkY: GRAY GrEEn!
oh, crush me with your foot, fall!
shake it if you've got 'em, autumn!
Sting my eyes with your bling, spring!
Oh, I try so hard to care-a, primavera!
drop the plates like a bum(bl)er, summ(bl)er!
fiber my glass with a splinter, winter!
Seasons;
so many bees on my face
in the spring, so little space
to breathe in the spring.
oh, crush me with your foot, fall!
shake it if you've got 'em, autumn!
Sting my eyes with your bling, spring!
Oh, I try so hard to care-a, primavera!
drop the plates like a bum(bl)er, summ(bl)er!
fiber my glass with a splinter, winter!
Seasons;
so many bees on my face
in the spring, so little space
to breathe in the spring.
posted by Poetry Revolutionist at 11:08 PM
3 Comments:
Seemed forced. Definitely not your best work.
I need to see more GOOSE in your writing . . .
It's that time of the semester. Everything written seems forced.
I think we just like to torture ourselves. Misery is my friend.
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