Monday, September 13, 2010

The Heart.

by James Galvin

A stumblebum in scree.

A hummingbird with internal bleeding.

A desert windmill churning out
Its painful water,
like, like, like.

This must be the pursuit of happiness,
Which is no one's right.

A game the heart plays hurting.

A butterfly with sore feet.

The windowstunned bird willing
To batter itself further
For its birthright the air.

Someone reciting an original poem
With his throat cut.


No comments:

Post a Comment