Notes from Survey of British Literature II
harness yer explosions.
yer eyes' undoing, sick-filled,
scraped out,
overmined manholes
Paisley's stomach gut was
shoveled, impressed, seeking a
mister--underdressed. Sister Paisley,
come out from under the stairs.
Yer home isn't there, is it?
Mine's heavy.
1 comment:
re: a while ago
thanks for the feedback man. i'm glad i'm doing the blog too, and that you are doing yours as well. i sincerely think your poetry is real good.
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