After having drug myself
through the valley of doubt,
others now turn quizzical
when asking after my state.
They have heads like puppies
tilted slightly and a soft liar’s voice,
eyes like a starless night,
the moon in hiding.
After having drug myself
through the valley of doubt,
others now turn quizzical
when asking after my state.
They have heads like puppies
tilted slightly and a soft liar’s voice,
eyes like a starless night,
the moon in hiding.
Umbriate Press Poetry 