Tough little winds,
roads I don’t know,
grays that blow big.
Sheets are empty.
Monkeys dig deeply,
looking for their latest
masterpiece, which is
in your black house.
My teeth clutch
American Culture, Death, Depression, Fear, Isolation, Poems, Poetry, Resistance, Spirituality, Take Me To The Hospital
This entry was posted on June 26, 2011, 8:45 am and is filed under Poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through RSS 2.0.
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#1 by claudia on June 26, 2011 - 8:47 am
my teeth clutch empty air..you always have images that make me hold my breath carl
#2 by Carl on June 26, 2011 - 1:29 pm
Thank you, Claudia. Your kindness means the world to me.
#3 by abichica on June 26, 2011 - 11:08 am
your imagery is incredible.. i love it.. 🙂
#4 by Carl on June 26, 2011 - 1:30 pm
Thank you for your comment. I appreciate your reading and being so kind with your comment.
#5 by seabell on June 27, 2011 - 2:34 am
I felt the same yesterday while reading that Walmart is opening in South Africa, Mozambique and a few other African countries… 🙂
#6 by Carl on June 27, 2011 - 8:18 pm
Maybe Africans can refuse to shop at Walmart? I would think that they have enough sense to pull that off. Of course, that’s from someone who shops at Walmart but that’s because they put Kmart out of business, not to mention the real 5 and dime stores.
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