Sunday, May 12, 2013

someday I'll be a real artist (kind of like a cow)

Why do words seem, off and on, like vapor
Significant and substantial
but suddenly dismantled
Dispelled in a breath of wind.

Your breath is dispelling my substance
Insisting that it become sustenance
When all I was hoping
Was not to start choking
On the bile of this history lesson

Everything old is new again
Digested some and regurgitated
Our stomachs are singular
So in the vernacular
Our ruminations spill over the floor.

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