The smile

When Gibbel returns

Out of this muck gardened
yowling bin dead grassed bog trudge
there will be a way
there will be a way

If I have to carve it with my
bleached bones or the
unpardoned edge of the words
I chose to leave unsaid

Look at yourself and your
tiny needs
look at yourself I have I have I am I did

We were at the very centre of the lake
when a wind came up
as it always must
and then you began to smile

Leave a Comment

1 + eleven =

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.