a sudden wisp of the weird
a sudden wisp of the weirda tale taller than I on a slow Sunday
a master class full of worms
coffins fitted with wheels rolling
down death of eternally yours
wigged into strict chambers
where no squatter comes out alive
I find terminology fading
in usage and broad importance
I am fettered and I am not
Poetry by Bob
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Written on 2016-10-07 at 11:25
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Jamsbo Rockda |
Texts |
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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