.
This poem gots a perfect bow, shiny
silver and slivered just right into curls.
Girl’s put on her best iambic dress, her most
sure-footed shoes, her moody blues and
ebony-kerned sway. She’s got a way of
standing up proud, and primped and tall.
But underneath it all?
……………….(Oh, yes.)
This poem is just
a festive, flustered, fetid
……………………..mess.
.
prompted by poetic asides, november chapbook challenge, day 5.
Whimsygizmo's Blog 