I Feed on Air – Peter Peteet

Peter Peteet

I feed on air
wear water.
My bones are made of stones
which speak a slow and quiet
tongue.

I’m old and yet new-born,
fresh green as the new corn.
Pushing aside the ancient soil
from which I’m formed.

Birds cry but shed no tears.
I’ll die but
Never let you chain me
to fears.

Bukowski can have his beers
suicidal women their tears
Preachers rail of queers
factories farm steers.

I feed on air
wear water.
My bones are made of stones
which speak a slow and quiet
tongue.

Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply