sick poetry

literally
i am a figure
doubled over but
steering metaphors
driving porcelain buses

winter’s end
is always vulnerable to
birth, sickness, old-age & death
in that order. two more stops
until i get off

Thanks for the comments.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s