survivor by Crabapple

posted in: Poetry 2012 | 0

My flesh is grass,

Trapped by dismissal,

Held under force by the blocks of convention.

But my roots are deep-set

In artisitic subversion

And I will thrust through

With the songs of dissension.

My spears will disrupt

The simple, the brutal

For I hold the seeds of

The complex, the fruitful.

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