Target.
Sweet,
Unfortunate.
Arrows fire
Your name.
Frazzled in
The gust
That howls
Its aim.
Rotten love
Scoured,
In its
Ripened flame.
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Target.
Sweet,
Unfortunate.
Arrows fire
Your name.
Frazzled in
The gust
That howls
Its aim.
Rotten love
Scoured,
In its
Ripened flame.
yes
I don’t get it
Pinkjumpers
as is the trial of poetry.
yes
you sound great and that’s good for poetry 🙂
Andy
^^ I remember a quote by Jim Morrison, that went something like ‘Real poetry doesn’t really say anything, it just ticks off the possibilities.’ I think, then, that sometimes my poetry isn’t real poetry. But one man’s meat, and all that. And I like this one, Anna.
lol
hahahahaha
tangerinedream12
fantastic back cover goes with yr poem
melissarw1989
❤