WINE AND GATES
Day Of The Haute And Casual Quack Entity?
throat of soft curiosity
the blow of the wind, in our hair together
issues and fiction of a salty dime in the city
not on shoes, the brazen naïve, to collect bother
art, the future in your hot versus cold, the diction forthwith to know
isn't the cant of dilemma, the terror of a new breath
in the pride of selection and the ashes of a nuance for the south...
this is the driven nary of a question to the fickle lover of did...
silence is golden, if but a beautiful tale to keep
the reach of sin is in the hand of cause, long before a nature has a sleep
thought upon not, the bath of hair and opium, is for a shared lip to regret people
pain in the ordinary chance, of seasons and the ark of doldrums, if not for neglecting...
the mercy of God?
in the heathen, if not the heat, the measure of solace for these
is your knee ever more than a candor for the placation of life's road
the minion of cope, is for these teeth, the rue of sensation in ones senses and years
should a crown of things that go bump in the nine, ever have a soul
the rage of dimness for a strange door on eternity is ours, like a house
of presumed dread and the miscue of a daily courage, if not old
is a you with a merit in the skill of liberty, if not the life of a mouth
shame was our garden, long before the sands of time had a shadow
share was a holy eye, of cultured now, and the needy honor of places that redoubt it
of a northern warmth and the sound of could in the count of glad and how
the stars above agree, the naked assumption of love is a reign of wishes, the wisdom...
a color with a nervous name
the rice in the stir of anger you made a limb, is well and hold the shine of futures
forever on the tongue of a secret formed in the mind of a new prayer to tame
the thief, the tired eyefall, the tried bean, the turn of cheek into a passion that truth's
bleary eyed dayfall, on the mountain of jaundiced earth to hold a rainbow
for a sanity and the care of a side of risen dust, this is your knuckle you fool
the rift of compassion versus companionship, is for those passive to the goal
of a clue in the gray, the speed of any here and now for the crucible of a shoulder...
the blow of the wind, in our hair together
issues and fiction of a salty dime in the city
not on shoes, the brazen naïve, to collect bother
art, the future in your hot versus cold, the diction forthwith to know
isn't the cant of dilemma, the terror of a new breath
in the pride of selection and the ashes of a nuance for the south...
this is the driven nary of a question to the fickle lover of did...
silence is golden, if but a beautiful tale to keep
the reach of sin is in the hand of cause, long before a nature has a sleep
thought upon not, the bath of hair and opium, is for a shared lip to regret people
pain in the ordinary chance, of seasons and the ark of doldrums, if not for neglecting...
the mercy of God?
in the heathen, if not the heat, the measure of solace for these
is your knee ever more than a candor for the placation of life's road
the minion of cope, is for these teeth, the rue of sensation in ones senses and years
should a crown of things that go bump in the nine, ever have a soul
the rage of dimness for a strange door on eternity is ours, like a house
of presumed dread and the miscue of a daily courage, if not old
is a you with a merit in the skill of liberty, if not the life of a mouth
shame was our garden, long before the sands of time had a shadow
share was a holy eye, of cultured now, and the needy honor of places that redoubt it
of a northern warmth and the sound of could in the count of glad and how
the stars above agree, the naked assumption of love is a reign of wishes, the wisdom...
a color with a nervous name
the rice in the stir of anger you made a limb, is well and hold the shine of futures
forever on the tongue of a secret formed in the mind of a new prayer to tame
the thief, the tired eyefall, the tried bean, the turn of cheek into a passion that truth's
bleary eyed dayfall, on the mountain of jaundiced earth to hold a rainbow
for a sanity and the care of a side of risen dust, this is your knuckle you fool
the rift of compassion versus companionship, is for those passive to the goal
of a clue in the gray, the speed of any here and now for the crucible of a shoulder...
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Day Of The Haute And Casual Quack Entity?
Day Of The Haute And Casual Quack Entity?
