riot upon fire at the end game

riot upon fire at the end game
strolling like an old man
up the wintry hill lost religion

dared into ending silence
softened by parental winds
I turn pillows

I am the here of I must go now
a sub-solitude communion
a hot tub on the run



Poetry by Bob
Read 858 times
Written on 2018-03-09 at 11:53

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