Oh he's the jock, he is, he is
just crushed a rock
Burst my bubbles, he did he did
shooting little stones and pebbles
Off went the pretties, they popped, they popped
like cherry ripe ditties
Frothing blood, I dream I dream
Fuelled by the translucent flood.
2 comments:
....didn't get the last 2 lines Ms Orange! I guess that's why you did Lit, and I did not!
@fg - I wish I knew what they meant, too:)
This was one of those poems that wrote themselves. Sometimes they seem to be just nonsense and I let them be. They sort themselves out in my head later on. Rarely, they also get re-written.
The problem is that I don't know whether I write what I think or I think what I write.
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