Friday, June 15, 2018


Machines junk poetry
Scattered in the rain
The wires in your head now
Don't cause any pain 
Your rhyme schemes
Your time dreams
Drenched in old sweat
Recoil in horror at Father Time's breath
Random moments in a bubble
Atmosphere thick with trouble 
Hands of a clock tick tocking away
On the edge of wakefulness
Teeter totter sway
Gathering the words
Throw them in a bag
Stirring couldren of poems
A wicked old hag
And it's me
Always me. 

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