Without Words Or Covers
Perhaps when I throw up
it's when I'm with you
haphazardly birthing baby
dreams across the cosmos
Perhaps when I'm with me
nothing flies speaking lies
as the autumn season mulls
... one perfectly placed
coffin (or coffee?)
I caught a whiff of old books
at a red light and how strange
the road is a book-spine without
words or covers
And someone asked, "would
you hit a woman with a baby?"
No, I'd hit her with a brick
is the e.e. cummings answer.
:: 10262015 ::
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