Among cavemen
Enter not the dungeon with a tepid heart,
fraught with so much pain and loitering.
Fever is a full days reckoning and more,
reeking with fetid mistakes and failures
to see the formal fish as no norm to be
with fiery fingers pointing to the moon,
full with itself and the way it moves.
It is a fiendish lot to hand over in favour
a feast made of glossy beads and tools.
Poetry by Bob
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Written on 2009-02-14 at 18:18
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Brian Oarr |
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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