Rotten produce prohibited here.
(Originally published February 15, 2007)
I never intended to turn this into a poetry blog, but poems are the only thing readable that I’ve been writing lately–and I desperately want to post something. The only other option was a book review from my History of Western Civilization class, The Last Days of Socrates. I figure the poem was least likely to encourage the throwing of rotten fruit in cyberspace. I’m turning this one in today. And maybe soon I’ll write about me again.
the tickle on the underside, the inside
of your skin
the weightless drop
the alluring pleasure of a breath lost
no one told you butterflies
live a few short months
and caged, they die
free, they fly away
such fickle, fleeting things