Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Sleeping

And then the sun rose so I ran
Not out of joy, despite much effort
To sit still as book, nowhere
Headed, skipping like a rock,
I sunk.

Such fuss about a home, my.
In that I can email, I
Am not unlike a god.
A rare bed before, ayawning
I sunk.

No comments:

Post a Comment