Unearth 11 Poem by William Pryor
Unearth 11
get up pressure, break through
splatter
egg
on your face
seed
in your eyes
burns in your fingers
itch
grey wind, cold glass
& separation
so hard, the passion
turns you to activity
a semblance
of a creator
that glimmer that
I am that I am
self
contained
O that I am contained
Sunday, March 11, 2012
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9/23/2024 3:37:02 AM # 1.0.0.1119
