tales from the murky splurge for Saturday, November 27, 2010

Saturday, November 27, 2010

pierce me poke me cannot find a broke me litter me fall me pull my arms right off me tar me feather me there is nothing left of me tread on me roll me nothing left to stole me hate me grate me cheesey roll and taste me spit me grit me nothing left to hit me worn me shorn me always left forlorn me... Sign in to see full entry.

posted by spiderfly at 4:33 PM | add or view comments (4) | leave calling card | link to this | view only this entry
November 2010
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About this Blog

Poetry is about expression of thought. Sometimes the best work is the kind of stuff that just leaps up from within our soul. I write a lot about the murky splurge...This defines a place where we are are given the freedom to bare our souls in word but understand it is between the lines where most truth resides, In a world which has an abundance of love for all to share there is a whirlwind stirring. these words come out of a storm, but reader of my blog, please see although we write about many things, we may just mean another...well that is what the villagers said..... have fun.

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