Salvador Dali, 1930 I'll damn well scratch my way if I have to
I'm done with this grey, low-hanging compression
Trusting my reach and my own range of motion
I scrape angry fingers across the sky
I'm done with the grey, low-hanging compression
Sick with the sight of my ankles and feet
I scrape angry fingers across the sky
Then dig out the blue and save it for later
Sick with the sight of my ankles and feet
I'm done with this supposed low-pressure system
I'll dig out the blue and save it for later
Shove it down in my pocket where no one can reach it
I'm done with this supposed low-pressure system
I'm grabbing the higher to keep for myself
I'll shove it down in my pocket where no one can touch it
Or crunch it under my heel to show it who's boss
This is my first poem written in response to a prompt from Big Tent Poetry. This week's prompt was to write a pantoum, which was also a first for me. It's good to be back!
