I'm back to writing a poem every day, whether they stink or not.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Three

An apple goes bad in the grass;
it goes good for the grass;
it grows well for itself.

My teeth go bad in my mouth;
they go good for the economy;
my enamel is flour for an inedible loaf.

A God goes bad in the grass;
it goes good for the spirit;
grass sprouts prayerfully from the heart.

1 comment:

BradyDale said...

this has the seeds of real genius, big E.