WINE AND GATES
Does This Seat Have A Spirit In It, Or Is It Mean?
waiting on a bus
in the feuding line of stones throw
the turn of us, the sting of a nasty eye, in the discussed
price for poets and a habit in gray, the taste in a suit to owe
where's the love?
in a handful of cream and the salt it took to make a cuter...
whimsy in days, for the myriad souls in the mirror, a hand with a brash enough of
to elect a happy face in the more, to the wishes of a gooding lip to rosy future
is it me, or did someone pass gas?
or least the stationary of life, you know, the place with its own candy bars
and cola's that say the low in and low out of poorness of a gingery last
ring the bell for fulfil or risk the new with selves, that single out a passion for yours
turn into me, and you to will see a place to rent a reckoning, meant fact for next
in line to remember the price of admission, to the senses we know can, approve
and justify the keep of done, for a liberty in the smiles of others, where sitting is expected
one dollar and some change, is what it takes to rhyme with a host of caring, that comes to you
like what you see?
the merit of somber tongues to defend themselves from the heat of others, in when
the milk of human decency is for the risen need of ought, in the barren sorts we have, up keep
power to ower the smiles of oddity we belong to have, like the miles gone by with lend
your anger...
at maybe the saving grace of promises in the dark, the taste of honey and clover we know
to be a sensitive action of morbidity, to collect a new smell of individuality, the danger
of common people is a worthy, contender to kinds of shadows that had bells, whistles and how
perhaps stop should mean go too
the yield in our flair for sense with parking on the curse, of a limited break
for a silence in the norm, we can call our own, as if we merge in the blown...
of a life trying to disdain the nearer toe of choice, in a harrowed way to see to sake
thank you, for energy to keep going, the idea of solace to remember the obvious truth
we of the purpose under the stars at night, keep a risen point for the better half of nowing
but ourselves in the lime light, of golden since, the city of our dreams and youth
will wait, until a heed for some more is all and for, the rashness of a placid being, a thing
in the feuding line of stones throw
the turn of us, the sting of a nasty eye, in the discussed
price for poets and a habit in gray, the taste in a suit to owe
where's the love?
in a handful of cream and the salt it took to make a cuter...
whimsy in days, for the myriad souls in the mirror, a hand with a brash enough of
to elect a happy face in the more, to the wishes of a gooding lip to rosy future
is it me, or did someone pass gas?
or least the stationary of life, you know, the place with its own candy bars
and cola's that say the low in and low out of poorness of a gingery last
ring the bell for fulfil or risk the new with selves, that single out a passion for yours
turn into me, and you to will see a place to rent a reckoning, meant fact for next
in line to remember the price of admission, to the senses we know can, approve
and justify the keep of done, for a liberty in the smiles of others, where sitting is expected
one dollar and some change, is what it takes to rhyme with a host of caring, that comes to you
like what you see?
the merit of somber tongues to defend themselves from the heat of others, in when
the milk of human decency is for the risen need of ought, in the barren sorts we have, up keep
power to ower the smiles of oddity we belong to have, like the miles gone by with lend
your anger...
at maybe the saving grace of promises in the dark, the taste of honey and clover we know
to be a sensitive action of morbidity, to collect a new smell of individuality, the danger
of common people is a worthy, contender to kinds of shadows that had bells, whistles and how
perhaps stop should mean go too
the yield in our flair for sense with parking on the curse, of a limited break
for a silence in the norm, we can call our own, as if we merge in the blown...
of a life trying to disdain the nearer toe of choice, in a harrowed way to see to sake
thank you, for energy to keep going, the idea of solace to remember the obvious truth
we of the purpose under the stars at night, keep a risen point for the better half of nowing
but ourselves in the lime light, of golden since, the city of our dreams and youth
will wait, until a heed for some more is all and for, the rashness of a placid being, a thing
Comment On This Poem ---
Does This Seat Have A Spirit In It, Or Is It Mean?
Does This Seat Have A Spirit In It, Or Is It Mean?
