Smooth rounded lips
bring self destructive bliss
to a wretch wrecked.
It’s neither calamitous
or calamity
that lays its weary head
down to rest assure
the only things worth knowing.
As it turns out,
there isn’t any worth in knowing,
only things intangible abound,
bound to hell
in broken down baskets,
because the irony
is murderous.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Poem-A-Day: Day 88
Baskets
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Drop a line, a quip, a snippet, your pants, or an anecdote...just don't drop the soap.