FLYING flocks travel in flight, <br />another faulkner puts down his <br />shovel, and writes, writes, and <br />writes, <br />spare me the out cry, <br />spare me the empty familiar, <br />spare me muddled spirits, <br />and write the words with your <br />own red blood, <br />FLYING flocks travel in flight, <br />sextan turns up, with her freind <br />plath, and they both begine to <br />write, write, and write, yippee, <br />says the words, for these words <br />will end up in a paper back book.<br /><br />DAVID GERARDINO<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/swim-submerged/
