I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
And so the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're goin' through

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Can't help myself

Waiting for an oil change, poetry happened. Rewrote it three times while there. Came home and pounded the crap out of it, but I have my first structured poem in a coons age, "What the Sea Sends."

I think it's fantasy. It has witches, it has the dead.

Now to send it off. edit It's off to Andromeda Spaceways Magazine.