Tim Carlson

Rookie (Australia)

Face - Poem by Tim Carlson

I feel about this small,
a thimbel shaped growth,
unshaped and common.
Who are they? not me,
not her, not him, no sense,
of identity nor of sense.


Cold like a snake,
barb poised.
What am I? Dispute it,
You know better.
Injured and fat, lie like
a great serpent.

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, November 15, 2007

Poem Edited: Monday, April 25, 2011

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