The whole movement, the whole project
warped from wrapped inside the mind;
trapped from down the grounded tarpon splash,
water rushing thunder green and still the why
wavering to the who and what will happen;
the stillness speaks to nothing
but disaster cyclones spinning black and white,
red redemption listening to tinder cinders.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Poem-A-Day: Day 549
Cycle 25
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Drop a line, a quip, a snippet, your pants, or an anecdote...just don't drop the soap.