Poems from kirkatia98
Early sketchbooks,
overflowing with drafts and dreams,
connoisseur collectors items.
They study my work,
discovering the loose red...
All things without reference vanish
to the undiscovered country
from which none have yet returned.
Those whom fortune neither kissed nor...
I think I love you.
Cause each song on the radio
Sounds like your name.
When the engine of my mind idles,
Thoughts of you casually stroll...
No more woeful verses
of death and heartaches.
No more pretty prose
about butterflies and roses
No more feministic poems
of injustices...
The cliff
hazy in the distance,
veiled by an insubstantial fog.
Surreal mysterious and dreamlike.
is it real?
A moon invisible,
that...