As the Rats chewed their way
into
my whiskey dreams
they said
You are not a human
but a weak rabbit
feeding on incandescence.
My site has changed!
13 years ago
About Me
- Liz Fairchild
- I write a poem to forget that my story is half-told and will always be half-told until I die and it is not told at all. All poets wish to be prophets, foretelling moments of non-existence, sculpting the half-story into a satisfying lump,"To have squeezed the universe into a ball To roll it toward some overwhelming question..."
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1 comment:
In the medicine cards, rabbit is fear.
Are you afraid of something?
Rum dreams here.
Papa.
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