Wax bodies with string on the insides of their mouths, pulling lips into a smile,
disinterest me in enjambs and endstops. But endstops, I like those.
When you walk to the edge of the woods, and see the tree that you used to hide in,
because you couldn't handle another tea service, there is an end to that. When that happened,
I felt like wax. Maybe you will feel like plastic, that is deader than wax.
No comments:
Post a Comment