who once ran
in silver ribbons,
we return to the soil
through the bellies
of the raccoon,
Better to be out of the cold,
to die in our own warm bed
with a full belly.
Leave a comment
Filed under outlaw poetry, poetry
Tagged as death
Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:
You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Google+ account. ( Log Out / Change )
Connecting to %s
Notify me of new comments via email.
Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.
Join 1,111 other followers