WINE AND GATES
Locomotive 29 Is Serving Psyche, Anger ...
tired if not wearing
the news for a dark, violence in the east
withheld information for the station nearing
peculiar if to look in the walk to a breast
shadow of curiosity crossing your face?
thoughts of suicidal kings to live in their space?
of congenial, monsters and haunting ghosts of a spit pace?
your drink is on the floor with a napkin that says, "my place or your place?"
wash rooms on a train have the scent of composure for a selected few shames rued
the error of summatious now, and the arch of deliberate sulking, is a brazen coup
of a colossus of choice to finish the martyrdom of a woody excuse
for the silence of dimness of a marital breeze, if not knee of courage in the soup
strange how a metal of consideration is a leftover stomach with the kiss
of a rather large exaction of sincerity in the wind, happy trails ...
to yawn, "persimmon alley, at 5:30, and bring your wishes"
force upon sources of collision with the 4:15, is this smile in hell?
men dying on trains, would
women with no clothes thereafter, could
children to eat their snickers and messiah of swallows, should
where the beckoning moon is in your eye a little, we know the jude
so who is this monster with spite in his heart for a liberty of quandary ink?
your shoes know the answer, long before you get home and take it all off for a lip
this is the message of the sunshine in your lap, to finish a meal of resolute causes that stink
regret? this entity of wishes and the future of knowing reach for a saltier hypothesis
what's up, who cares, what got dinner on the table, how a head got kick
when all you have is love, for the scent of a new candle in the window, and consciences fruit
there is your answer, wake up and smell everything, even a soul with direction can be sick
like a hardy news to the contrary, trains with a delicate name always hide behind youth
sunshine regards me as a lover?
the taste of credit to finish the needs of another in mind?
the last of many coffee's and cokes, is this seat taken by a novelty?
that has a jaundiced view of the world, or is that my passion to reason and rhyme?
tender if the night, the soul of chaste and the skill of reality in our nose
with a swing and a risen hill of chance season, we debark for the right to anything
how, and forever, a slower kindness than mine, the mire of sanctity in our eyes for woes
tragic is a rational of sanity here, for even God has a lip for all and a future lingering
the news for a dark, violence in the east
withheld information for the station nearing
peculiar if to look in the walk to a breast
shadow of curiosity crossing your face?
thoughts of suicidal kings to live in their space?
of congenial, monsters and haunting ghosts of a spit pace?
your drink is on the floor with a napkin that says, "my place or your place?"
wash rooms on a train have the scent of composure for a selected few shames rued
the error of summatious now, and the arch of deliberate sulking, is a brazen coup
of a colossus of choice to finish the martyrdom of a woody excuse
for the silence of dimness of a marital breeze, if not knee of courage in the soup
strange how a metal of consideration is a leftover stomach with the kiss
of a rather large exaction of sincerity in the wind, happy trails ...
to yawn, "persimmon alley, at 5:30, and bring your wishes"
force upon sources of collision with the 4:15, is this smile in hell?
men dying on trains, would
women with no clothes thereafter, could
children to eat their snickers and messiah of swallows, should
where the beckoning moon is in your eye a little, we know the jude
so who is this monster with spite in his heart for a liberty of quandary ink?
your shoes know the answer, long before you get home and take it all off for a lip
this is the message of the sunshine in your lap, to finish a meal of resolute causes that stink
regret? this entity of wishes and the future of knowing reach for a saltier hypothesis
what's up, who cares, what got dinner on the table, how a head got kick
when all you have is love, for the scent of a new candle in the window, and consciences fruit
there is your answer, wake up and smell everything, even a soul with direction can be sick
like a hardy news to the contrary, trains with a delicate name always hide behind youth
sunshine regards me as a lover?
the taste of credit to finish the needs of another in mind?
the last of many coffee's and cokes, is this seat taken by a novelty?
that has a jaundiced view of the world, or is that my passion to reason and rhyme?
tender if the night, the soul of chaste and the skill of reality in our nose
with a swing and a risen hill of chance season, we debark for the right to anything
how, and forever, a slower kindness than mine, the mire of sanctity in our eyes for woes
tragic is a rational of sanity here, for even God has a lip for all and a future lingering
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Locomotive 29 Is Serving Psyche, Anger ...
Locomotive 29 Is Serving Psyche, Anger ...
