It was the fall of youth, and I was drowning in cider.
Roiling in the riptide were a great many reasons for ending those lives
that belly scraped at her feet along with the rest,
a self absorbed humanity cheating at cards and on spouses.
Roiling in the riptide were a great many reasons for ending those lives.
We tightroped through with awkward glances and sweaty palmed silences
a self absorbed humanity cheating at cards and on spouses
celebrating premature divorces and Vegas weddings. Everyone breaks even.
We tightroped through with awkward glances and sweaty palmed silences
when finally a fractured union agreed to die out in warring civility.
Celebrating premature divorces and Vegas weddings, everyone breaks even
shuddering in an unmarked grave. Danced upon by thrift store boots.
When finally a fractured union agreed to die out in warring civility,
she was an olive branch sharp as a spear. I was a wrung neck dove
shuddering in an unmarked grave, danced upon by thrift store boots
of her malnourished band of tin can chorus boys.
She was an olive branch sharp as a spear, I was a wrung neck dove
that belly scraped at her feet along with the rest
of her malnourished band of tin can chorus boys.
It was the fall of youth, and I was drowning inside her.
I totally dig this poem -- I don't know why by for some reason I want the end of the 6th line to read:
ReplyDeleteglances in sweaty palmed silence
even though this changes things quite a bit (if u r paying close enough attention). Keep it up Rob, you've grown quite poignant (in your old age!) HA! MediumSizedSmartSean