Wednesday, October 6, 2010

A Poetry Hangover

Could kill you

Or a loved one.

Are you protected?

The man smiled

A cookie cutter smile

With empty panes for eyes.

I know

This is not news

I know the sound of this sweet constant gong

Banging

Banging

Banging on my temples

Calling the faithful to prayer

Fall on your knees

Oh hear the ancients calling

What are years?

Do I dare?

If not now

Will tomorrow provide a vehicle

Amply in size

With a smooth luxury ride

Yet good gas economy?

The future is hazy

And sits

Parked

In the middle of the harbor

and awaits the poets' ode to a tug.

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