Jessica Stepanovsky Poet I do not know?

Surplus Thoughts

counting deaths servants, circling these wayward surplus thoughts. Plucking one by one just 
as you pluck guitar strings. Surprisingly beautiful, as they flee from deaths servants. Pulling 
out his sickle to slice, slash anything in its path. Raping them of any existanced of mind. How 
lovely. I guess I'll take a number.

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Carolyn Devonshire December 17, 2009 at 12:34 PM Very creative and also intriguing, Jessica. While this is somewhat of a grim outlook on life, death does not conceed any favors to special people. Guess we're all in line, waiting for our numbers to be called. Thought-provoking poem! Love, carolyn