I can feel the chonch-shell sound of One-thirty-six AM Not down tight where my tailbone pulses the bed where you sleep, your eyes covered in cotton lilac, breathing hard with your back to me; but up here in glass head echoing like Michelangelo's chambers between air and ear, between brain and blood, rushing and whirling like the tidepools in Oregon we meant to visit but couldn't find.
A people’s heart can be found in their poetic words. In history men and women have stood firmly upon their soapboxes and street corners, rallying the deepest beliefs of people to rise up and be heard. The poetrypages.com has offered that voice a new
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I like this quite interesting.
Wonderful imagery thought provoking as well.
Take care,
Gwendolyn