All bolts

All bolts that keep madness
from erupting at length
in halls of dubious character
blends into the background
when I and I overlook
all ancient books and the way
they break and crinkle,

and when I and I talk to the wind
and eyes of you are ad to all
any man can see:

I roll the dice through the echo.
I recoil, recall and revolt to
the present tuning of the reason why
all things will go no further.




Poetry by Bob
Read 611 times
Written on 2008-03-17 at 20:46

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limber junctionson
Isnt it nice to be grown-up?
No matter how the dice roll.
Very interesting.
2008-03-18