untitled...
the poet takes his stancedusting down white
papers
(with) one look orders
dark crowd
creeps
to noise in standard formation
flicking through the dance
brush: thrusts at
stabs
cuts into
out
picture
murdering the blank.
stomach calls for: finish up
divided by
stop
you must be joking
leaning to one side
tagging up empty space
sharing vapours.
Poetry by Aaron Jon Wells
Read 504 times
Written on 2005-07-18 at 03:25
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
