Bullet
I am steam on an open window
footsteps in a blizzard
receding swell
of a punishing tide
the kid gloved hand
of a self that died
peddling scraps
to those who’d be fed
hiding horizons
from those who’d be lead…
Insidious as a risk assessment
my bullet point well punctuated
I don’t bite the bullet
I don’t site the bullet
I load the stink
then pass it on.
winston plowes
Fri 1st Oct 2010 12:27
How lyrical Isobel... Loved some of the associations in this. In fact the first 4 lines have inspired a little poem of my own. Isn't it great how poetry of others can do this. Win x