a black forsythia
branch exploding
under her skin,
pressing leaves
against her
wrists, her
belly. Licorice
petals drift to
her eyes, burn
like the flames
a knife slices
that eats the dead
animal’s blood
by Lyn Lifshin
*Lyn's website:
http://www.lynlifshin.com/books.htm
June 20, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Blog Archive
-
►
2010
(222)
-
►
August
(26)
- if there's any irony to be culled at this point in...
- The Couple Fighting In Front Of The Box Office Ul...
- Internet
- some more truth
- Delusions
- Fallen
- within five minutes of entering the supermarket
- at the community picnic
- The Rancid Rooms of Montreal
- Items of Amorous Intent
- What a Man Needs
- Nine In the Morning
- Cruel Summer
- Fran’s Building
- Summer
- The Age of Sail
- Shark Week
- FRESH MORNING COFFEE
- Gateway
- Elegy
- A Guided Tour of Hell
- In the bottom of some hour
- Your Eyes Are The Saddest Cowboy Lament
- Skipping Rosetta Stones Across the Backs of the Ag...
- Homesickness
- Namesake (For My Grandfather)
-
►
August
(26)
0 comments:
Post a Comment