A HUNDRED POEMS – WHITE SPACE DETOURS
I ride the path by mouth – a trillion bottles of water —
parched lips: and nothing more! Give me you love; oh
i need that thing so bad.
The pen is dried and tears have taken a road by south.
dusty road of youth and hunger for passion.
Who should feed those vagrant words? They starve at day
and flee by night! And detours, forked by white Spaces
and pregnant pauses give birth as too tiny doubts upon my ink!
Ah baby you’re driving me mad. So give me your love.
I watched the children drown there. Within possibility.
A fountain in the square of town is where I dip my quill,
and the Crier shouts,
“Oyez, Oyez, Oyez!”
Remember all the good souls!
Oh give me your love.
:: 08-23-2014 ::
LIFE: is anyone worthy? i am so flattered by your fascination with me.
i am so weak and ulgy but by water frogs like any hot blooded woman i am not too much to crave: but fascinations with me. I am simply an object to crave — but you (so kind and invited).
It must be because it is expressly existed to see the skies part and my heart bleed.
You sheppard my causes but you, you are not alone but enlighted by charity. The One I love so much.
Must be a soul with a hard shelled heart who knows desperate measures.
But you, you are not alive but enlighted. Slight. White hands moving the air and
making words and uncharted emotions grievely. YOu speak of my love for you
and have experienced death. YOU. Thus, you are not alive but invited for uncharted
words. Emily Dickinson.
:: 07.15.2021 ::