Nine Feet
I’m a moral in a secret box,
An earthworm, chewing through a sour meal,
A home, still within the daisy farm.
Oh, black ants, parasites, nematodes.
This trunk’s cold with its precious relics.
Jackpot’s dying for foxy diggers.
I’m an end, a joke, a passing fad.
I’ve left my mark to make a payment,
Jumped in the lake with my mom and dad.
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This is article #83, posted by Jeff Starr on Monday, March 27, 2006 @ 11:50pm. Categorized as Textual, and tagged with poetry, writing. Updated on November 03, 2007. Visited 8172 times. 0 Responses »
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