Kristalyn
(Kristalyn)
1
Unable to escape the leeches of my mind,
who neither burned in the heat of Rome
nor drowned in my sweat
I feed them their friends–
For breakfast, a bowl of Lorca
For lunch, a plate of Cortazar
And for a snack, Rilke.
But for dinner,
my pests are starved.
Hungarily the leeches gnaw on my mind.
such poetry, touches me
touches
and then i
touch
myself
i
Kristalyn
(Kristalyn)
3
How the hell did it “touch” you? Are you a fan of any of those poets? or are you just playing around?
unexplainable except by poetic form. no. no.