Sweet lick of
Knowing
That kneads me
Like a cat
As if I’m allergic
To your own dismay
It pricks my ribs
Tying me in the wool
Of an unraveled jumper
A cocoon
It’s making me feel ill…
Just another morning day
Sterile, seethed
Columns of chalk
Drawing every word
I say
YOU ARE READING
Diaphanous Eyelids Anthology
PoetryAnthology from the winter holidays. Just as happy, morbid and incomprehensible as ever.
