A Poem By Rose Aiello Morales
Creation is roseate sometimes,
streams run into the ocean,
brooks reek of sex,
rocks are proof of future generations.
Meanderings walk without shoes
not knowing life exists on other plantar,
I fashion bridges foot by diseased foot,
not caring for the plague’s existence into liquid.
Living beings were read into my books,
as seen on TV, life’s existence is precarious,
some scum is salmon colored,
with children squashed between my errant toes.