prayer, patterns; poetry

By newpyramids

These are seeds spat into a red earth.
Words to arrange themselves in neat stacks,
that flit and bloom in birth, wrapping roots
in snappy syntax. Wit sharp as scythes
run across a whetstone tongue,
reaping a gray brain, thoughts like little prayers
to providence, caught in wine-red welts on pink skin:
sin that sinks in. I am stoic and undressed,
silly, sultry, statuesque.
Speaking words, like
“happiness”
or “elephant”
or “shoe.”

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prayer, patterns; poetry

Created: Jul 26, 2010

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