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10johnjohndoe

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What a thrill, these green
and yellow fungus trees, my
thumb instead of the Earthís
skin,

Blowing these living spores and
rustling leaves, can you hear
their invisible flowers, so silent
through the next hour,

but floating like a broken arrow,
then suddenly swaying, once the
wind begins to blow,

Can you see behind the
window, a blackbirdís dismembered
mausoleum, flat, ridiculous, and
very near,

it haunts the nearby grazing deer,
who live in constant fear, of my
delicate arrival.


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The following comments are for "A POEM WITH NO NAME"
by gamblerman

Thank YOU BOB
You can give it a name....

M

( Posted by: gamblerman [Member] On: December 25, 2008 )





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