Shadows are cricling around my head <br />And i cannot bother to sink deeper <br />Revolt shines through my bare bones <br />but who i can oppress i know not <br /> <br />Give me a smattering of literacy <br />To see the blue inside your head <br />if you dropp a key to the foor, my bones <br />will follow and catch it up like a lost tennis ball <br /> <br />The key rings memories inside my head <br />A glue of yanks and twists, both erased <br />from posterity- which course does the key show? <br />An open keyhole or a narrow door- peeping <br /> <br />Peeping is not allowed but i touch her brush <br />it swings to my mirth like a rocking chair- i <br />could paint her with her own hairs- a wavy <br />spindley dark buildling - ginger brown<br /><br />Michael Witkowski<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-hair-brush/
