deepundergroundpoetry.com
Slave to the template
Slave to the template meets the widow.
Leaded glass blurs the line
Headlight gloss from rain is seductive
Dust clogs my pencil, words on pulp rot my eyes.
Reading backwards never shows an ink blot.
Formica decks and idiot's with a typewriter discuss my future. I always liked those little chairs, the chrome matched her gaze.
Degrees based on untruths can only see what they read, elephants on the treadmill reading Frost.
The turtle wears a tie, it's his 1st day
Trees scream at the sky ,mother's listening.
Thoughts appear before my eyes, the tangible tangerine,..
calm down its not ok.
No thanks, I'll have two.
Leaded glass blurs the line
Headlight gloss from rain is seductive
Dust clogs my pencil, words on pulp rot my eyes.
Reading backwards never shows an ink blot.
Formica decks and idiot's with a typewriter discuss my future. I always liked those little chairs, the chrome matched her gaze.
Degrees based on untruths can only see what they read, elephants on the treadmill reading Frost.
The turtle wears a tie, it's his 1st day
Trees scream at the sky ,mother's listening.
Thoughts appear before my eyes, the tangible tangerine,..
calm down its not ok.
No thanks, I'll have two.
Published 6th Nov 2017
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