.jpg)
Under the Table
I could be losing my touch.
That complex cleverness dripping my muchness
into a puddle of doubt on the floor
underneath a table of gum stalactites:
crystallized, chewed-up, neon mounds,
once full of cerebral flavor,
oozed in muse booze, now
withered and wrinkled.
I'm left alone to spelunk
for my gems of rhymes.
No comments:
Post a Comment