Bed Of Flowers
Resided on my abdomen
Rested like lumber
In a slothful crusade
About my enamour
Subsided horizontally
Beside my parallel adjure
In my bed of flowers
On top of me
Buried deep inside of me
Like quarrymen
Penetrated to puncture me whole
In the orifice
Where boarders part
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The Unwanted Fetus
He must have hated meDeep within the crevices of my nocturnal wombAlone in this desolate tractWhe
Crossroads
And when I leave this placeHere I goOnward through to the meadowy lands
Paper
It only took a penTo rewrite the courseI spoke in inkIn sentences made of tousled hair
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