WINE AND GATES

Lost Angels Sometimes Take Gas...

persistent rash
the lucky break of mayhem in the hill's
like future contempt, the skill of lady ash
is a work for the wine, simply chilled

with a smile, comes the bearing of such
tooth and harbinger of sudden kind
stealing the worth of a lust to climb, is too much
for a little heed and the kiss of the times

people like to since, the bravery of again
as we think, the truth is in the stink
of lord's rule for a young treacle of wind
that is the couth of a church of, wink

too much, too little
the cult of searched lips, the right to say need
this arrogant miracle of neglecting the city of will's
is a reach for the mays of a swim, from here to heed

and then the cage of a roaming lion, with a paw that shrugged
rudimentary courage is a care made recent passivity
the lore of angles and a soaring bird, thought the loved
was a mete of cant, that said the door opening, for ...


Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Lost Angels Sometimes Take Gas...

266,390 Poems Read

Sponsors