The whole aim, the whole movement
lost in a sea, heightened sight to see
no steam on the horizon,
no amber waves or majesty;
the tree lined fog left crippled legs
black and gangrenous amorous vapor daze;
hazy memories of crap lined backwoods traps
and a jester clapping past from passed shallows.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Poem-A-Day: Day 555
Cycle 19
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment
Drop a line, a quip, a snippet, your pants, or an anecdote...just don't drop the soap.