Saturday, February 7, 2015

One nation under a groove

And then there were two
The next number
Mass destruction
Finger food
Past the point of annoyance

I want a sentence
to aerate soil
Call it a Parlement of fowls
A verse to have and hold
A prelubed song
Bird to call my own

I want bite-sized
Blowback by design
If he wakes
All bets are off

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