Litkicks Message Board Archive


Posted to Action Poetry

somehow i can't help
but think that
this is strange of me...
to desire the wonderful
perfectly painted
perfectly baked
perfectly grown
martha stewart life
but i look at my
messy desk
strewn with notes
and think about my
messy kitchen
with crumb-littered
and imagine my
messy garden
where weeds grow
just as freely as
the plants
and wonder how
i could do it
how i could
become this