I love that a blue morning could be the best thing in the world, or the worst, depending on how you think about it. “Listen to the limp linger” jumps out at me. And then “she said” hangs off alone, like it’s being sarcastic. I think she said something she didn’t follow through with, maybe.
Blue morning, Blue morning
Wrapped in strands of fist and bone
Curiosity, Kitten,
Doesn’t have to mean you’re on your own…
-Counting Crows
I love that a blue morning could be the best thing in the world, or the worst, depending on how you think about it. “Listen to the limp linger” jumps out at me. And then “she said” hangs off alone, like it’s being sarcastic. I think she said something she didn’t follow through with, maybe.
I also see “listen, ferocious in flower.”
I am a ferocious listener.
Oh, and I really like that this poem and the next have titles that are being squiggly hugged. I think we all need squiggly hugs today.
YES. To all squiggly hugs.
I love the idea of flowering, ferociously. So much.
I like “fat with slow poetry” — that’s the best place to be.
“salt the sky” she said (or De said!) And of course ferocious in flower!