Author Information
Stella
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Bad poetry still can't fathom the difference
a steady heartbeat
and a ticking bomb
a brain or
a box. There's so much metal in our blood. Like
grafitti. Or maybe no one else thinks so.
I really hope all of the heavenly bodies
will stay still for a while longer -- I've seen
a termite from a broken nest
it was so hopeless and pale and hungry. I don't think
it could even read.
Would not invite it in.
Someone called my trumpet a cornet
my question became a poem
maybe that's why no one says anything back.
Yesterday I wanted to be a poem
but today I would settle to be a termite.
I'm tired of all of the space between us.
