With Leaved, Cupped Hands

Fri, 06/07/2019 - 14:57 -- Isaiaho

Stomachs when they will, will so: that smell may happily happen by, by the by.
Why come ye mouthful of wows, and of lips gone round?
Run out of wine and time then wear frown.
Resourceful, be, when baseness spills: Empty into the profound.
Into a cry of giants run; and ask why the sky is yea high.
You've doffed your scars? Don the scabs--the wrong side out.
Toward days make for troubling fountains of water for sighs
For trickles, with leaved, cupped hands.

This poem is about: 
Me
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