a change of heart for the windless chime.
how soon a charade becomes a bookmark
how soon a trench becomes a palace.
a dull landscape for the dullest eye
lets assume for one moment
the saintly cries of the childless Cock
tells us it's nearing for six o'clock;
feint smells of oil on the village whore
as drips from her mouth the sailors snot.
with sperm too busy to form an orderly queue
how quick a frogmarch becomes a stuttering retreat.
guns at the ready -but watch your back!-
a summer knife speaks in his winter frock
tells us it's close now to six o'clock;
between spasm and a painless limp
falls a shadow
between alignment and suggestive mind
falls despair
between suggestion and denial
falls the word
between innocence and guilt
falls the sword;
sun-dried beneath all who sprout sequence
are we to tolerate the intolerant?
or bereave all who bereave?
a sectioned embryonic myth
is neither smaller nor bigger than sliced orange pith.
let us waltz with the cuckoo on catholic rock
it is time -it is time!-
it is now six o'clock;
-
Author:
Melvin James (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 9th, 2021 14:23
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 36
Offline)
Comments2
Good write, D.M.
bold - impactful,
demanding - distilling,
judgemental of judges,
empathetic of the judged,
angled to shine perspective
on those most maligned within society's hypocritical traditions..
daring!
a poem, I wish I had the ability to pen..
thank you L B Mek. you're too kind.
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