Friday, January 22

poem without words

The Rust Ain’t Far Off

and I don’t have guns
under this shirt
but I got some
wounds because
I am patron of
the lost cause

I lay down our
future at your feet

I witness the shape
your eyes are and
will never forget

the way I feel today
it is at least more familiar

and that is all I got right now

pathetic enough
to be my
consolation prize

No comments:

Post a Comment