The Interactive Poetry Pages

Salon of Poetry for Critique - Three


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Poem Number 325
aspecificity
unspecified
takes me unsuspectedly
for a midnight joy ride
carbide tipped and full of spin
to drill through layers of grafted skin
ecstacy
yes, ecstacy
bleeds through this smoking hole
black as oil
to stain my sheets
leaving me vacant
to thrum the convoluted whorls
at the very tips
of tiny fingers
twitching
behind my eyes


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