Pale thigh

Pale thigh promise pass
through gale gifted peak night
when nothing seems unattainable
and nothing is anything more
than clear percussive perception
and its continuation of follow dance.

Acuity claims perpetual intuition
as its final mother tied tongue,
me, on a brittle, blatant bio what's it,
seeps through gratification,
never hesitating at the dubious two,
brutally slicing bread at midnight.

Dervish migratory stork motion
triggers tripod male solitude
in a serpentual vault
of all one man can see in a take
of what cause can lead to
and certainly its repercussion.




Poetry by Bob
Read 732 times
Written on 2007-05-06 at 02:59

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Pamela A Lamppa
Wow. My tongue tripped and tangoed all through this piece. Really really well done. Slowed me just enough to grasp. Ahh. I loved it. ~Pamela *rose*
2007-05-19


Rob Graber
"brutally slicing bread at midnight": I'm afraid this sounds rather like something one does alone rather than in company... ;-,?
Enjoyed this write, Bob!
2007-05-06