Litkicks Message Board Archive


Posted to Action Poetry

wednsday's feeling
is fleeting--
a dodgy bird,
a snippet of wind,
a blur of bent wing.

our intensity
is drawn from the tap
of hatred.
hard and black,
inpenatrable stone.

our children will bear
scars-- we'll brand their tongues,
wipe the salt from
once perfect skin,
and teach them not to care.