Suppurate Poem by David Kowalczyk

Suppurate

Rating: 4.3


Best left unspoken,
this word contains the crimes
of uncountable lifetimes.


A fluttering of noise,
it always sprinkles salt
on whatever it is about to eat..


It is the pain of decay,
the lies whispered by
fallen leaves.

Saturday, February 9, 2008
Topic(s) of this poem: leaves
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David Kowalczyk

David Kowalczyk

Batavia, New York
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