Thrown Poem by Jonathan Ballam
Thrown
I’m caught up
in an unstrung silence
of my insane self.
I wear the weather…
And I can feel my bones
asking me to leave.
The audience is trapped with
Choices and lonely songs, that
Echo down to their feet
It fills up the untrained acoustic
Muse, who relaxes with
a pen
a head full of children.
and a throb in his throat.
Monday, December 10, 2007
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5/3/2024 1:04:25 PM # 1.0.0.1119
