Hey guys, I decided to start a new series titled revision week. I'm posting a single poem today, something off the top of my head, and then with each succeeding day, I will revise the poem, just to see how different it can become. Basically, I'm playing masturbatory telephone with myself. It's fun; you should try it.
Origin
she was once a thing
of paper
dressed in stiletto heels,
climbing
sidewalk scenes against
the duress of a red dress.
and I was a wheel
left in a junkyard,
kicked
and crudded over with mud,
dreaming of ocean crest.
she tells me, oh we
are not so long
in time to
believe we can have heaven.
but she
says a lot of things;
I smell of the fall,
I smell of something lost on the wind.
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