Those grunge-goddesses
have all
lost their sense of smell.
Laughing so hard
their heads
finally burst open
into a final embrace
that’s left us sick
from being helpless.

They’re all without a hurry,
these people standing
instead of being
while objectives change
and their hearts
only guide them so far.

Reaching endlessly
into the caverns of sacred dreams
where they’ve been known
for creating pictures
that they drew
with their own two hands.


About Sean O'Gorman

Spoken Word poet from Ottawa. View all posts by Sean O'Gorman

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