deepundergroundpoetry.com
Holding Onto The Rails
With a pot lickers bouillon of ink and pale twilight.
Rising through the crust of my mind's chimney
spigot. Holding onto the rails. Quoting, "What I don't
know." Listening to the snail's acapella humming on
my gravestone, old soup bone. Waiting for the bug-
zapper's metronome to kiss me, thinking that I am a
flea.
Rising through the crust of my mind's chimney
spigot. Holding onto the rails. Quoting, "What I don't
know." Listening to the snail's acapella humming on
my gravestone, old soup bone. Waiting for the bug-
zapper's metronome to kiss me, thinking that I am a
flea.
Published 13th Aug 2023
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19th Aug 2023 4:47am
19th Aug 2023 5:01am
