Autopoiesis - Poem by Leslie Philibert
You are climbing out of the seat of my body;
rising as a small loaf, a scrap of wonder.
Stamped in wax with my ugly mug and running.
Surprised you are broken glass, a bit of face
or a toast-dropper of a fear. You are weighed with
a ton of my own past, packaged and disguised, the
torn tape of a reel-to-reel, endless and twisted.
No shit Sherlock, children are from their parents;
But they don`t know that. Forgive me.
Comments about Autopoiesis by Leslie Philibert
Mary Elizabeth Frye
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- TelevisionRoald Dahl