Tuesday, August 10, 2010

A blink that lasts until the dream seem
real. They never come to me, were to

active in thought, I knew, to look
past the sea that flows there,

when the eyes are busy, looking
behind. An incorrect
state of mind.

I ventured here to find them seized?
Because the words you spit,

drain me of rhyme. You live across
the land so dry, and getting here took

three horses-but you sour tagged breath

still finds its victim. How dare you.


  1. I'm not poetically inclined, at all.

    You make me wish that I were.

  2. i still have a long way to go...thanks. but poetry is what you make it. your wit can guide you.