Cobbler
hammer stuck
in your skull
like a fork resting
inside the crust
of a half-eaten pie
the claw catches light,
as polished chrome clean
as your smile
and I regret both
the choice of my grip
and the bite not taken
Posted by Michael Arnzen | February 22nd, 2005
Dept.: Gorelets: Unpleasant Poems | Permalink
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