Mooncalf
Stilts balanced by the fear of falling.
Afterbirth and straw. Inside out.
A mix of skin and string.
Pulled out like the tide,
a mess of purple tubes
and slime-life.
Your eyes as round as earths.
You try to eat the night air
then seek the primary. Milkmouth.
Born under a stone eye.
Special and disjointed.
You are not white enough
to be dry bone,
rather hopeless pearl
as the full moon sags.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
