Tagged: poem 15
All The While
Shafted…damn How those eyes looked Ticked off on one or two fingers the sky we stood under Rain was the edge, sunlight the folds travel again around corners bent for your majesty the crown...
Regular Pick-Ups
He comes like Santa Claus in unmagical night, trailing a monster iron-wrought — a hissing, growling, squealing beast burning yellow and red down streets of dispassion. He is agent of convenient oblivion, undertaker of...