Tip of the Iceberg
22Feb10
Poetry is glacial stone,
Knowing not familiar shore.
All mindful scrawling grows
Upon that rock that was before.
Critics cleave the living ice,
Delving porous thought.
Budding ice emerges;
Ancient prose freshly wrought.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Leave a Comment
No Responses Yet to “Tip of the Iceberg”