The sapling in my head withers
from heat and I radiate its fatal fever-
the way bodies are so hot and then cold.
Sometimes the mind’s heat versifies
and at times it overwhelms
one with a need to turn all things cold.
24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
The sapling in my head withers
from heat and I radiate its fatal fever-
the way bodies are so hot and then cold.
Sometimes the mind’s heat versifies
and at times it overwhelms
one with a need to turn all things cold.
‘radiate its fatal fever’ has such a good sound to it.