we can live…..
For the poet takes us
to the deepest, dankest
worm’s stank bed,
drags our fingers
leafing through
the crumbling acrid yeasty loam.
He overturns bones
to dig us out and
quenches with liqueur
distilled in dew
from the bud
of the deepest red.
This is a flash fiction poem, in exactly 55 words, hosted by Mr Knowitall, HERE . Write your own story or poem, let us know, and post on Friday! Should I change "red" to "read"?
Photo by J.Giese.
I am grateful to the talented and truthful poets I heard tonight, who lifted me and shredded me and wrung me out. I am ready to get up and face another day...
