If I write it
it will come,
tingle at my forehead,
crawl over my ear.
These days
I walk calmly from the room
I don’t run from
the miniscule body of great fear.
24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
If I write it
it will come,
tingle at my forehead,
crawl over my ear.
These days
I walk calmly from the room
I don’t run from
the miniscule body of great fear.