Human mass
Steep lights at the fall
of midnight mass
crowd into the head
of the last soldier standing,
break as always
into fractions of longing
with the one useful hour.
Streams of what ever
collides with seaweed and sand
at the slow fall of tide.
The dark falling of white wings,
on salty air, fraught with expression,
makes the worlds of make and do.
Who are you to look the other way
when inner milestones are expressed
and the inclusive intention is no less
than all it can contain?
I saw a dog today biting the leg
of all undetected days gone by,
a grey eye digging into the sand
of a sun born yesterday.
Poetry by Bob
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Written on 2009-05-23 at 02:51
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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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