Writing Block
A Collection of Poems and Thoughts
Friday, February 27, 2009
Migration
Not the fists he holds tightly at his sides,
not his puffed-out chest bracing wind
or the mast that’s planted behind you both.
You’ll try, but
none of it—not even your arm
slid through his—
will be enough
to stop
this sensation
of falling.
1 comment:
John E. White
August 3, 2009 at 6:15 a.m.
Do we at least get some popcorn? I'm starving!
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Do we at least get some popcorn? I'm starving!
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