By dnolan - Posted on 17 April 2010

Cotton Balls.
Swabbing up my sanity.
Fuzzing up my ears.
Your words are cotton,
laborious to pick,
under the hot sun of opinions.
Thick and dry,
fuzzy and white.
Your chatter is not comfort,
it is slavery
in auditory fields.

 
allelos's picture

cotton sheets cool my cheek
warm rays
and the smells of rain on leaves
pour
     in

        through
             my
                window
drowsy head pillow pressed
to a cotton  case
muffles the dawn's
buzzes,
    chirps,

        drips,
            and
                chatters
like voices in a language
I don't know
mumbling wonders of a
new day

 

 

 

 

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