poetry critical

online poetry workshop

The sun is an orb

Tasting a red 72
steps up on the yard.
The sun is radiant,
Green grass prickling my ankles  
From the heat of the sun,
the beads of sweat
settled on my forehead
were beginning to drip,
the earth was spinning
and beneath me thousand of worms
inching the earth—moving it,
beneath me
Clouds overhead hugged the sky
white and pudgy against clear blue
The colors had arranged themselves
to arrest me
I could almost taste the cotton
If you’ve ever done it once,
or twice,
or a thousand times before
you’ll remember it for good
It cannot be forgotten

28 Feb 18

(define the words in this poem)

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