Maggie Bolton Poems

I can’t come to you for my pain in the throat

But I can for the pain in my soul.
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So, it all turns out to be a loop

William Burroughs, Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac
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Brought up by the sun,

But the disposition is from Vermont.
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Mr.Strickland reminds me of you.
If I were Blanche, I would do what she did too.
Like a sophisticated beast
Howling in the territory of yours
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2 days and 6 hours are all the time we left.
While you’re striding in time,
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I always look at you unrestrainedly

In hope to cage those wild blue birds in my mind
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