The Process Poem by Martin Lochner

The Process



when skin tightens around the skull
and hair stands straight as the old kitchen broom

when it feels as if a prickling hairy beetle
crawls under turkey skin
and legs wobble like valium jelly

then with tears in your eyes
euphoria in your throat

you know
the muse has visited
your great experience

Thursday, March 10, 2011
Topic(s) of this poem: hair
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