Word Salsa #3

Her body drops As she carelessly killed on every bill
I act like me I was in a critic
The scene inside her flame of Landa’s place, & waited for me she had a blue sky
Yes, this or waving of rock, piPe and my eyes and painted yellow & gone, &, smiling, went away
That’s dill-pickle-flavored, too much as our fists of San Antonio

20180429000000

Previous Next

Is this a good poem? Help us find the best of Word Salsa!