Terry A Posted February 26 Share Posted February 26 He lays out A balloon punctured in the sun A slow leak of blood Carrying downside the pool A disturbing red If he would have yelled The glass ceiling would have shattered But he said nothing Dozing off in a slumber filled With little taunting hands Not permitted touch. I complained about the mud the dirt the static But he was wind and capricious as wind Blowing where ever the heat was uneven. That wound worried me But he ordered lunch As if dying was no reason To be hungry. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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