Poetry Soup Talks, Ow, Hot
Hot Soup talk is the pressure cooker's son!
Sweet derth of wicked tallows and
wipped addicted frothing spider tounges!
But,
All Poets are not the same.
They are born and then multiply
regressivily complexifying claims
to:
love
loss
mother
and father
who cannot love
or loved enough
but find behind them
a second lack.
This other lack that follows,
that fills with words and
signal flares a homage
to trauma,
to enjoyed pain,
to futures cut from knowing
what can lack in love.
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.
