The whole concept, the whole aim
marched in single files
one after the other over under white;
screams and rhythmic patterns tapped,
danced into the night and up a stair,
some case in point that rendered files useless;
the useless grasp of grasping at straws
left reflections rejected, splashed on bliss blown
dread.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Poem-A-Day: Day 562
Cycle 12
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.