The grasshopper(poem)
sometimes silence
smells like musty conjugated vaginas
Dear señor, won't you publish my obscurity?
Some nights I drink
and stare at my dead hummingbird--
what is death?
It's those grasshoppers
spitting dirt betweenst my fingers;
summers as a child
during the buzzing heat of Virginian green
the anxious bug scatters
without knowledge of the human eye
on another blade he feels safe
and even between my fingers
he emits even poorer defense mechanisms
that only serve to spark my curiosity
I pull off
one leg
at a time
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STOPGreat poem...following for more :)
Thank you, I am going to attempt to publish 1 per day. I have a lot I've never had an avenue to publish until steemit(or never wanted to because I despised the platforms). I'm very excited to learn of this community.