Saturday, October 13, 2012
Irish
Something jars, & sense
myself hardening up.
I’ll come to some
refractory stance.
Irish. Unmovable.
You could throw
carriage bolts
at my head &
they’d bounce off,
all unfelt. You’d be
doing me a favor.
(Comfort me
with carriage bolts
for I am sick of love.)
Something jars, & sense
myself hardening up.
I’ll come to some
refractory stance.
Irish. Unmovable.
You could throw
carriage bolts
at my head &
they’d bounce off,
all unfelt. You’d be
doing me a favor.
(Comfort me
with carriage bolts
for I am sick of love.)
Labels: Irish, stubbornness
