Words, with thanks to the old woman who spits.
by , 11-22-2009 at 10:34 PM (937 Views)
I would bring the death of your Novembers
stalking through markets for tears
to bring forth to you,
empty out your bed of flowers
and mock the song of birdsong by the porch
with a long drawn sigh, after many whiskeys.
And against the calm of dark night
I would spout venom and swear
at TV sitcoms
and slam doors.



