automatic writing #56

in water floating womb spilt milk begins to sour 

the cat turns up his nose 

the tree creaks outside under the weight of weather 

and birds 

and under ground 

it’s roots criss cross like the tube map we follow with fingers and eyes 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s