It is not too late to meld splendor with the
Bodies that grow from instruction. Her outlaw,
Common sense. He, underground. “They got it
Wrong, the gods we have.” I can feel your steps
Unravel with the clarity of youth. A blossoming
Of raw beginnings. There is no ordinary along with
All their other oblivions. He doesn’t get a full house.
The statues will recover with menace, forecast:
“We can try again to want less heraldic colors.”
The Prop is Not an Apple
October 28, 2017 by 2 Comments
To Katy,
Integral and near crucially complex undertones undermines other perhaps so to speak, lesser poetry.
Not a full house. Do I dare wish for a Royal flush? Me thinks not. Thank you for the art!
beautifully wtitten and love the hidden undertones and the ambiguity it implies