This little poem arrived from somewhere a few weeks ago:
Cicada
Sick of his own face,
sick of his skin, of the dark,
he crawls outside himself
to sing –
a better poet than most.
A haiku–sort of
This little poem arrived from somewhere a few weeks ago:
Sick of his own face,
sick of his skin, of the dark,
he crawls outside himself
to sing –
a better poet than most.