Friday, November 27, 2009

Tired Poetry

This is a super raw-format poem. Wrote it one night nodding off at the dining room table. Passed it on to my sis who thought it needed some tweaking. But I prefer it in it's unrefined state.


Sometimes survival
Is a sigh of simplicity..
(I’m too exhausted for desire).

Remember broken hearts are a luxury.

Lust-
Not love
Because there is no time...

I find temporary relief
in chocolate chips straight from the bag; crushed candy wrappers on the dining table and dreaming next to my softly snoring
Son.

Yes,
These days I plod past the poetry.

Value the art in
Existence.

How your heart is
muscle-meat
with electricity.

1 comment: