Sunday, June 28, 2009

Things That Come and Go



97

Rushing the fallen road
Better to decompose than have all the tomorrows of the world
The galloping harm happens to stop at the inside bridge where
Decency and rage capsize- sinking abreast
Would not they expect some form of special treatment?
The wax saloon is filled with knocking
The sound of the cemetery gates bumping
Grief is loose and un-announced
Expected mourning comes a rolling, drinking, clinking in consolation
The terrible poor nail shut the opening,
Wailing something about an elixir.

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