The Open Hearse
I found my shoelace. It was unstrung. It led me like a river down carpet. I knew it was going nowhere and I was not pretending to follow it. My head is like an open hearse, It sees death perching on a window and sees life walking in the door. Honey, I'm home... Honey?... who left the window open.
1 Comments:
you are a poet you darling knave, what lily livered saucepan of a wit do you have if you are manipulating cliche death words and household images like a Simic?
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