The poems are liars.
They will say and do anything, promise you anything, to make you feel exactly what I feel.
But the feelings at least are real.
Friday, December 28, 2012
Beaks
Who, upon seeing a beak for the first time could guess the sleek long stream of effluence the feathers and wings who could guess the shape of things to come from just that one beginning?
No comments:
Post a Comment