7.24.2011

Drop.





The blood that surges in my

heart is the blood of something









feral. It burns me down

to my essence. A lit










fuse, it hisses through

my veins. Unchecked it









flares, unstemmed it

flows, untamed it









runs rampant

on its course,









wild to

the last,









red

drop.








4 comments:

  1. Plants and people with red
    make their bed
    inside their head
    and are fed
    by beauty the poet said.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Outstanding, Jen. Powerful words.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Thanks Annie! It was fun to write, descending as the lines do in syllable count.

    Thank you for the poem, Dave! "Fed by beauty" is very provocative. Expect me to steal it. =] Also, you're only the second person to ever offer up a poem in response to a poem, which I think is very cool!

    Jonny, you're contribution to my Chicken Haiku post was the first, so I would expect you of all people to know...

    Not Vogon - Hippie Style.

    ReplyDelete