Narcissit? Who me?

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Poem 2

Tapioca in the sunshine,
bright beads of reflection.
I never thought my voice could
reach such a high inflection.

Lamp shades lit dimly
red surface all aglow
wouldn't it be wonderful
to understand all of what you know.

Piles of letters inches thick
We've got a lovely basket.
Make one wrong move and
you'll be leaving in a casket.

Have four drinks,
and be under the host.
Curtains shimmer darkly
played with by a ghost.

Lines on walls never matching
pillows, blankets, stuff.
I think I'll end this poem
because I've simply had ...

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