Poem -

Empirical

author
August Arps
Empirical

When I don’t stop.
I keep going.
Like a mirth in a bin
Or a shock in 
the arm.
I crimp the hateful
With a deluge of untamed
empathy… 
sleep on a bed of nails
like a baby

that may be 
disarmed.
 

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Views: 
491
Rating:
Total votes: 0
Poetry Genre: 
Prose
Topic: 
The Soul
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