struck down in cold blood
once more stinging deep into the core,
central processing shit through a goose
onto hard driven vehicles
passing by and out of key.
stroked out,
from some internal clot in the netting
of the sinewy veins
connecting stifling memories
and plunging diatribes on whitewashed
scribble switches
drifting sad, and lifeless
into the dark raping quiet.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Poem-A-Day: Day 87
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Drop a line, a quip, a snippet, your pants, or an anecdote...just don't drop the soap.