Wednesday, January 12, 2011


Category: Poetry/Lyrics

We’re rag-tag rabbits, gone wrong,
and foxy wolves, skirting prison so slyly
and flirting so shyly.
With scars on our faces, we sniff at the traces
of lust in the wind-
It’s just dust in the wind.
Poisoned, I prowl the edges.
All the better to snap
at the rats who set the trap.

The pack is attacked
and we scatter like rats,
each in a different direction.
I’ll trick if I must.
I’ll fight if I must.
Somewhere in this mess, there’s perfection

which surely deserves some protection.

Posted by Cora Broomfield on 01/12 at 07:01 PM | Permalink
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