Luke J. Holt

Rookie - 177 Points (1-14-91 / fullerton CA)

Laudanum


I am the mossy air
coughing computations into the torpid billow of curtains,
i have come to feel as though my sadness has sired a warrior s soul;
warring on me
battling only I, himself.
i wait at tolls shooting storks from the sky

i ll breathe you a lake
and please refuse it

you want an ocean?

a god s lung is needed
i am the Vietnam of the clean camp

Mother Laudanum waits
with an indifferent stethoscope

Submitted: Saturday, March 15, 2014
Edited: Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Topic of this poem: fear


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