by the stringed carrot

by the stringed carrot
the infamous push
the slow sordid direction
perfected with dire
and die hard
he shall come riding

graveness will sit at the table
where future dines
with slack yesterday
the burning hang-arounds
of a lost chaotic currency
where time has no hope

there is no perfection
in the sea song
beating on the coming
with added years
of no more
on a wet sand silence

arabesques of spring
in a devil 's ear
by the crumbling pyramids
where night is another way
to say goodbye
to the gritty silence sand

there must be more
to hasty breath taken
word uttered
in the hurry of no mores' slack
yesterday of broken sails
tattered end tails





Poetry by Bob
Read 652 times
Written on 2015-01-05 at 19:55

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