A
hand reached out
and waved a 'hey friend' hi,
then
backed off, maybe a bit shy.
Next
time I saw that hand, it went right by
poem written like a supernova in the sky.
So the hand and the hearts and the poems content to be friends far apart homes, didn't mean much, a touch hit the guts, some people thought they were both nuts. I watched tug-of-war, hand on rope; afraid knot would tie and then choke.
Predicting
the future is a truly a bitch
'cuz it says that no one ever becomes rich. I saw that hand vanish, hung in a noose. Some said a demon was loose. I saw it free of all string that tangles
making
shadow puppet shows for angels.
Angel-children giggling and playing.
hands
in the air, what I'm saying.
Now
this is a stick up! What for?
Quit
biting hand that feeds, that's the cure.
| Wishing
Yahoo a sad goodbye wondering why a target was I? Free at last, free at last Sky backdrops on every mast, that you call your soul mates Far apart even in our sites with nary a comment explicitly paranoia and silent duplicity; to avoid getting burned, beyond hope the slipknot squeezed, suddenly broke. But I've tried anyhow, and you can't buy milk with a cow. Hanging around again and again with time on my hands. The ties that bind, just a distant jangle, as Icarus peeking under his wings longing for other fun things; but others don't make waves The flyboys corpse is splayed and medicine is much too late. |
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