Infants Poem by Alistair Adkinson
Infants
We could shed these artificial clothes,
these rags we wrap around us,
and swim in an amniotic astral plane.
And there, we could love,
and hope,
and bounce from you to me and back,
like infants,
unaware of pain,
and the ugliness that permeates those outside places
where we live and work and die.
Maybe,
if we'd only half-try.
Wednesday, July 5, 2006
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4/26/2024 12:42:07 PM # 1.0.0.1119
