Poem of the Day
hand-to-hand pass
By Simone White
while the palms touch and digits suggestively link
so movement of the hands of each
does occur
while the palms touch and digits suggestively link
so movement of the hands of each
does occur
And here, the remains of a field
A path withstands the onslaught of ferns
Mushrooms grow
on contorted limbs of a felled rônier palm
Handles of pruning hooks
I want only to be a worn-down stone
on the ruins of time,
I’ll go plant the tree of my grief
in the wetlands
of silence close to her grave
I’ll live in lantana
shrubs
sadness passes
and madness passes
Fast fella, cough it up, five cents more please.
Faster, this crap’ll kill you, like anything else
It is half life
There is honey in your harmony
Imagine, the grace of these children!
We are in the sun. What elapses
is history. Do you ever move?
Far out! You are really not a bad poet!
I am the one
who skulks in the library
He is very sorrowed that all this happened.
He works for his brothers.