WINE AND GATES

Clocks And Walls With A Growing Suspicion

tried with a cup of milk
crickets of a Sodom, the thinking stone
atoned with a place to finish in silk
silver is a wage to be earned by lovers, no?

fruit from the taste, throats of survival
these wishes in the stitches of mediocrity, hall
say the stir of angry means, to the bitter ends of neglect's weal
your belly is being, the cringing wall...

since the treasure found, the sound of climate for a will
the right side of your morsel of alacrity, a city
the leavings of watched for kind, and even a king will kill
in the boots of a motivated pity

pride and prejudice, the can of earn in the spoken word
the lights of majority's and the space of climaxes of judgment
for a spirit, and the care of a heavens stoic bird?
the power to lament...

feet and the future in your palm, with a promised age
of here and the quiet day of committed lips to the fall
of another key in the wind, to know for a sinning rage
is a lore the toe you made for the choice of the ingenuity of all?

poor was the jade in a candle
prescience to the fast, even the quick of moments to mother a boding
worth the wink of the world, the paradise of somber news to the till
of virtue seen, if not the silence you prayed for, when the heard soul...


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Clocks And Walls With A Growing Suspicion

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