there are red spots in my window

there are red spots in my window
a sarcophagus slides down the street
there are men at war with the Millers
kerosene flows in the dragon's shadow
there's little left but a fake skin handbag
full of fiery flies and a long view
from the empty boathouse in Laugharne

Gethsemane is not a garden with olive trees
he who is said to have spoken there
still breaks in tidal shadows with watery chains
there were no promises made that day
no one drew a saturated map to love and die for
though tribe after hungry tribe annihilates
just because they can see the drawing




Poetry by Bob
Read 554 times
Written on 2015-10-14 at 16:10

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Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
All from red spots in a window. The worlds you create always entertain.
2015-10-19


one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
this sounds like a recipe for disaster.

it's always interesting treading here.
2015-10-16