Myth-Making - For T.T. Poem by Guy Northam
Myth-Making - For T.T.
In my dream
You stood in a wooden frame
And zipped down the hill.
Illogical, of course:
Friction would not have
You do it. But you were free
And unrestrained by danger,
Laughing off
The collision at the end.
I was breathless
When I reached you,
That bump on your head.
The beginnings
Of a unicorn,
Unreal and undead.
Sunday, June 21, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: friendship
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4/26/2024 2:35:26 PM # 1.0.0.1119
