Litkicks Message Board Archive

Blisters

Posted to Action Poetry




Are for servants, workers, slaves.
Would we then be slaves to something,
And emotion perhaps?

Why cannot maypoles then be made December poles,
Or October poles for that?
Why could we not gaily dance beneath more coloured silks?
Rather than leaving it in the past of May,
And wait for it again when the May may never come again?

Why not then dance around the cherry pole,
And let the pale silks heal the pussing blisters?