so close to the ending of day

so close to the ending of day
I the dermatologist
move across the known diary
noted by still still dead
and their so called matter not

driven like a million rusty nails
run over like numerous badgers
sinking through the asphalt
like old salt in infected wounds
the one myth shudders

smoldered swept and sundered
danced into a day
one cannot dispute sound
of ten thousand different hearts
beating at the mortuary

wormed gone and deactivated
surrealed warbled and fetusized
old scars wont keep appearances
at long bay's what's up's horizon
when it is time to let go



Poetry by Bob
Read 640 times
Written on 2017-04-13 at 22:31

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