opulence rides in a stretch Lincoln
opulence rides in a stretch Lincolnsoaked in the smell of oranges
and moist green tea
feudal masters don't bleed
nailing carpenters
to the wooden floor
the ravished look for hammers
they in turn can use
the rhythm of the radio
pleads with small drums
and a full orchestra squirming
for a chance at the table
there at flowers
at the end of every score
there are so many turns
mapped and spoiled
there is a tambourine tree
at the end of my street
where one can get a freebie
just for turning up
there is no substitute
for the McCoy
running up and down
looking for the man
Poetry by Bob
Read 655 times
Written on 2017-02-26 at 18:40
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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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