Let it
go
Let the
storm rage on
Tearing
and rending all in its sight
As if
a storm could have sight
They
blindly destroy all in its path
Strangely
enough there are little pockets
Where
the tempest decides to skip
As if
the storm had some nefarious design
We
will leave the sporting goods store alone
But that
church and shelter…they must go
Chris
McQueeney 12/6/14
1 comment:
There's an illusion
in the heart of all my clouds
as they rub their hands
and send out fleshy
balls of booming sound and light
to which you ever
snuff your drippy nose
and wipe your eyes with knuckles
made of ancient cork.
Damn. Thanks.
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