her ideas
all wrung out and
hung on the clothesline to dry
she was now busy
running blind on frustration and paling green
shaking her piggy-bank mind to get out that
one... LAST... little... penny --
and it stumbles from her grasp
got a second?
come here! and watch this girl split her head open like an oyster
beautiful blood pearls splitting and dashing from the crack
a fountain of youth! no,
a fountain pen! in her hand
held so tightly and so formidable to her heart
(more than a sword? yes)
a moment of silence, please
hey, shut up! yes, you!
...
today we lay this poet
ha!
ahem! this wordmason to rest
and honor her memory
as her words will return
nevermore
YOU ARE READING
HUMAN PSYCHE
Poetrybecause that which makes us human is that which we think makes us less human
