deepundergroundpoetry.com

A lucid edge

We were running hand in hand    
to a lucid edge  free of dimension,    
the bulb moves nearer spellbound  
as the binaural beats close in    
I heard the Good Gray Poet singing to his woman  
under the moon of the prairie phlox,  
there was polarizations and iridescence.    
 
 
The truck's in the driveway  
with the battery dead,  
I’m sitting on the stoop,    
drinking boozy coffee in the morning air.
Written by Pishashee
Published | Edited 2nd May 2016
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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