No more "poetic" chat
Time dissipates when the right sound
collides with inexplicable present
and soft respite erases the hand
of all circular instrument we support.
Mother of night is not barren,
nor devoid of any mystery catch
in creeks of your own making
with feral streams of fertile chaos.
There will be another coming
where masters of expression
will crush the easy way out
and demand content of interest.
There will be an end to public, poetic chat
and silly letters to unmatchable mates.
Faith is a big word no one takes seriously,
effort is an ugly word.
Poetry by Bob
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Written on 2006-10-18 at 01:20
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Ian Bowen |
Bob |
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robust |
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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