I don’t really like poetry, but I do love my son’s. He’s in competition with me on who gets published first. He’s winning. I can’t believe I grew this child, and his sister. By far, my most creative work.
Here’s his latest piece:
pankmagazine.com, although I like his revised piece more:
Rub the ridges of my neck like Braille,so you can read the wordsmy mouth can’t speak.
Count the little bones in my fingerslike they are beads on an abacus, calculatingsome long lost touch.
Press your lips to mine,and my closed eyesare a kaleidoscope.
In Genesis, to make loveis to know. Try and kiss melike you don’t.