Laying down
layer upon
layer of silica
we build up
our horns
our petals
what was living
dies into something
sensible and useful
as a listening device
as the forms fall
out of their ideas
as eggs and embryos
to be worked on
to become flexible
as a flower
to a higher
desire.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
I had to click when I saw the great title.
The poem lives up to it.
Nice.
But that's a Borat "nice."
As in niiiiiiiiize.
xo
Thanks, Bill. I heard that phrase somewhere in Califorsaken last week and had to find a place for it.
Post a Comment