This Poem is all Silk, and Sow

.
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

 

 

 

 

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