steamed into this precise moment

steamed into this precise moment
I fail not to see why I am still here
it is a matter of concise riveting
in tune with the ones still here
cities will follow suit
forests will cease to be
man will eat the last garden bird
long before the sun is finally gone
in space will just be space

I saw a blue crocodile today
feeding on the constantly hungry
feeding on dead men’s loss
of love’s direction
I saw binary birds make up
for misconceptions
rotating around solitary men
on their way
to where shadows will not matter

dead men’s water will kill you
the fathers of lost time
will beg you to blow bikers
to red oblivion
just because they think
they owe the music
that moves subordinate floors
where I once danced
to the sound of marching feet




Poetry by Bob
Read 214 times
Written on 2017-11-04 at 07:55

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