Sunday, January 25, 2009


“Oh baby, don’t do it like this
and don’t worry about that …”
as if telling me what to do
ought save me from myself;
a charming, if feral cat.

With every word, the hero
efforts sculpture where
no casting need exist.
I am want for no such
rescue, trapped within
your fist.

Steadfast in his dysfunction,
frightened of real test,
as if the sculptor turned
to hidden, lonely craven;
a wretched soul at best.

© 2008 Marcy Stoeckel

No comments:

Post a Comment