seevision
21,700 poems read
I can run.
I can run.
That was starch and shirt before the mailbox.
Waiting for something.
No fissure or present state of the subliminal I would ask of a
lovelorn stained with:
"I don't know of stained buildup would you pass
over the mulch I need a green garden."
Or do think as do the stained of
ghost solutions an extraction?
They kept with the starch and the traces of wetness.
As do this shirt the innermost stains.
But that the refrain is mulch.
And the ghosts are ecstatic.
And lean towards thoughts of flight.
The depth of the garden is the rising of cling.
And the starch I know as bleach.
Be content and see.
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
I Can Run
I Can Run