The whole project, the whole concept
was never meant to be anything
but a sore scraping through the meadow
drenched in one dollar crapulence;
muttering repetitive shits
left to sink to the clouds
and racing forever higher to inevitable splash:
the distinctive beauty of a soaring bird.
Friday, June 3, 2011
Poem-A-Day: Day 568
Cycle 6
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Drop a line, a quip, a snippet, your pants, or an anecdote...just don't drop the soap.