Free verse № 41999
The Feild In Which I Live
There is a fence in the feild
where i live. It is not white nor polished
nor smooth. It is only brown.
And there is a figure over there.
Behind the fence. i think it is a man with
a huge metal pipe through his head.
And then there is a mouth on the face of this man.
It spits out blood evry fourth hour,
thinking that there is no life in this feild by the fence.
There is something living. There is the man,and the
brown fence by which he crouches. There is his mouth
and there is his blood; and then for what reason i do not know, then there is me.
7 comments
Why does this poem seem so damn good?
what does it mean?
e after i,
this poem is fine.
in fact i think it may haunt my confined sleep tonight.
the mouth on the face of the man spitting blood,
breathing life and death by the fence...
brrrrrrrrr.
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