The American-Lisa Marie Basile
The American
By Lisa Marie Basile
I saw fog
and you said, where?
spineless
linear
direct
wretched crevice of a man
you don’t become god
because I come
in this wild tide
you won’t wash up
you’ll be eaten
you only knew how to play
the first few bars of
moonlight sonata anyway
Copyright C. 2008 Lisa Marie Basile