WINE AND GATES
An Egg Whistling Fast Enough To Pray?
tiger in my coffee
the thief of sense, in a miserable tea
the truth of time, to quiet the soda of your mind, lead
is in the mirror, where a pursuing through in the sanity of a key
which to wind, the smile of regular offenders
in the came toil to find, the not
the smear of cope in all, of free is a glaring land, there
is a lark of teeth in the miles, until we part
brains, themselves and the might of a course in horse
till to ilk, the wishes of merit for a single think
oft the sign of the times, the more in your worse
shared, cloying, thought to stink
wandering, with a mote of dust in the mention
of courage for a sincerer try, at wests virtue
the mesmeral earth, its few in the worth to keep, skin
is your final lore, the wink in the mire of slapped faces, somehow crude
shamed?
feeling grotesque for a moment than gone?
preparing issues of gall, for the rest in the name ...?
of a question to your golden fool in the morrow, for a long ...
terror
the mosts of change if not the chance of crushed minds
if but a dance of choice and the cold stare of another silence, somehow fairer
the tour of solemn cans, in the way, is like a shape of things to keep, a hearts crime
faces and the spaces between them
the minutes of cope, that never were, your lies in view
the message of now, versus the mystery of voice over vim
vigor is a land with none, where you have it all for a soul that is due ...
pain and the history of common death in the hands of your children
thought famed in a glass jaw of withheld news, fore out the eyes of any
where have your shadows of control and the tyranny of covenants been?
where the muses of conscience know a play, a when with a gift for many ...
the thief of sense, in a miserable tea
the truth of time, to quiet the soda of your mind, lead
is in the mirror, where a pursuing through in the sanity of a key
which to wind, the smile of regular offenders
in the came toil to find, the not
the smear of cope in all, of free is a glaring land, there
is a lark of teeth in the miles, until we part
brains, themselves and the might of a course in horse
till to ilk, the wishes of merit for a single think
oft the sign of the times, the more in your worse
shared, cloying, thought to stink
wandering, with a mote of dust in the mention
of courage for a sincerer try, at wests virtue
the mesmeral earth, its few in the worth to keep, skin
is your final lore, the wink in the mire of slapped faces, somehow crude
shamed?
feeling grotesque for a moment than gone?
preparing issues of gall, for the rest in the name ...?
of a question to your golden fool in the morrow, for a long ...
terror
the mosts of change if not the chance of crushed minds
if but a dance of choice and the cold stare of another silence, somehow fairer
the tour of solemn cans, in the way, is like a shape of things to keep, a hearts crime
faces and the spaces between them
the minutes of cope, that never were, your lies in view
the message of now, versus the mystery of voice over vim
vigor is a land with none, where you have it all for a soul that is due ...
pain and the history of common death in the hands of your children
thought famed in a glass jaw of withheld news, fore out the eyes of any
where have your shadows of control and the tyranny of covenants been?
where the muses of conscience know a play, a when with a gift for many ...
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
An Egg Whistling Fast Enough To Pray?
An Egg Whistling Fast Enough To Pray?
