Words.
Mind races forward, backwards, sideways;
all around these crooked vowels.
Feet stumble on the concrete,
foolishly, imitating the abstract ballets
you weave. Clumbsy appendages dissect
a handful of letters,
to analyze, rationalize
their ethereal anatomy
to transpose harsh, ugly syllables
into the beauty you breathe.
👁 4💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.