deepundergroundpoetry.com

Leave me or let me leave

Hordes echo, the hollow dayshow
clamor of lives;
avowing their wasted fruit- withering
wicked rabblers
molding in a bowl

-

I crave a lush layaway
to splay mother bones - unevenly worn
like a cooked hen
upon a somewhere drizzly
devoid of dronings

Licking leaf topside
little end table levees
capturing dropped waters
in portions personal
and pristine

Fetching forward with fingers
free of clammy chill
a sudden barometer plunge
and the shrill of bedlam is banished

My head nods on netted moss
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