9/3/2007

changes swirl
in my teacup
dripping blood
from my father's broken heart

yet i cannot part

with
the glassy sunshine
and tepid rain
the little joys
without a name

i so so wish that
i could shred
this sea of red
in which
storms swirl
(in a teacup)
but the sweet and sour
ketchup drips
from my torn and breaking heart