It's in my head
There is a voice that can't be hushed,
by eyes thrush and fools that grind
the very wilted belly button play.
There is a forest that logs slow rush,
veins that creep like cool shellfish vines
murky manuscripts that leave no trail.
A splash of viridian has been forgotten
beneath your cheek bone collar blush
with no pains to sleep where no can tell.
Another amphibious nightfall peek
at all control tender reason might hone
for reasons sleek and full of rain.
It is but I that burn in thoughts of cotton
glanced to a final turn of gentle gender
where no man ever fell to slow.
Thus I must go like slender fish
from deep Prussian blue to indigo
and never again wake up to soon.
Poetry by Bob
Read 495 times
Written on 2006-10-14 at 23:40
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 by Bob Latest textsI seldom walkthere’s a rumor there will be no full stop so many regrets who am I |
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