At the bottom
of a bottle
of mezcal
–like at the end–
waiting for us
is the worm.
I chew
in dry earth
that whiteness
of living hedgerows
to know
the taste
of what will eat me.
translated by Katherine M. Hedeen
At the bottom
of a bottle
of mezcal
–like at the end–
waiting for us
is the worm.
I chew
in dry earth
that whiteness
of living hedgerows
to know
the taste
of what will eat me.
translated by Katherine M. Hedeen
Creative thinking
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poetry by Robert Ford
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Long time no read, so always a intertaining fruitful read about poetry.
Thanks.
Glad you like it.
but count me out all the same…
Understood.
Poignant.
Glad you think so.