michael h moore

Poor arms

My thoughts defy me still.

There is the stage........

An absolute authority stand by me.

Plague!  

I am so disenchanted with the rain.

It moves more to perplex me.

I gain by population. But not with creatures

Who pour their fuel into a machine.

No!

These are weapons: these poor arms

That lie on a pauper.

poverty and desecration, lie for me.