BringleBonk: forum

second poem.

Love was in the hopelessness of you,
each word a part of how you would be.

Imaginings have a way of forming themselves
from a wish for light, a wager to conceive a ghost.

This is how you were born from her, barely born herself.
You, created twice, a story and a storys child.

A god less knowing watched her write each page,
the glory and the fear that was your life,

rising out of her desire, rising from a myth
before her eyes, piece by piece, from dream to fire

i lay in bed

scratches all around me

eyes in my head

my hot-pocket is unfound

i will say 29....