Red shoes, red rose,
the arc of your nape
strikes the silk flash into the pitchy deep.
Who strikes
wreathes of flame,
the heat within the black dot where the world
shakes
the hollow of bone,
the rivers of the spine, snake's
fingers lift
the hip, the calf,
the hard heel
strikes
the echoing ground that you
strike
that you
free
that you
shake.
i wish i could continue with the stolen poem... i would publish your work!!!
ReplyDeletelove you!!
I wish you would continue Stolen Poem!
ReplyDelete