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My Lack Of Cool
by   Wrigley

Nothing impales my composure,
like startling impromptu visits

The physical isn't the near of it
It's just whenever I hear the rap,
tat- tat- tat-, it shifts my work
back to zero

Cucumbers faint in a spell
of love again, again?

I sit back, nothing moves, just
my lack of cool and me.
        

Poem ID: 17828   Poem Posted: 10/20/2000
Viewed: 1724  Voted On: 7  E-mailed: 0  Commented On: 0
 
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Copyright , 07-09-99,  all rights reserved by the author.
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