a storm is coming
ripping nails from their beds
i watch the blood drip from mine
and wonder
why does the chicken have to come first
why can't the cow win this time?
Did it hurt?
they ask
a silent audience waits
patiently
for my reply
Should it have?
i didn't feel a thing
in a race against her softer skin
i sold my flesh
and found myself
lesser
she was the chicken
i was the cow
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little blue book
ok this is more of a dumping ground for all of my poems and thoughts (more poems than thoughts) so please enjoy!!!
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over_the_cuckoos_nest
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