Within the heart there is a little flame. Some call it desire, while others call it pain. It rushes in and claims a being. Whimpering eyes, freedom is bleeding. And this my wanting, frail and done. Claiming wholeness, one by one. Searching for the smallest things. Wondering how I found these rings. But…
Tag: poem
Every curvature.
8/21/13 Going insane of course And no one will tell me So I do what any crazy man does Dreams and wants and can’t have Because the object becomes a desire And the subject is lost. I am one strand in the bird’s nest Not the egg, not the mother, not the brother, not…
Lather
If I had known I would have made more lather. Smell of ivory soap, clinical, clean, nothing extra. We grab these plastic things and push out the slippery stuff Sprinkles, then gushes of water. We mold it through our fingers, our longing. Clinching the lower palm, bumps on the top of our wrists We make…
Brian Ragsdale Writer.com 