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michael-depasqualePoems
There is no chair There is no room There is no house There is no town There is no county There is no state There is no country There is no continent There is no planet There is no stars There is no orbit There is no celestials There is no sun There is black There is a gasoline ocean There is waves turning There is waves crashing There is a matchbox in your pocket There is your hand reaching for the matchbox There is your finger opening the box There is your match-strike upon the sandpaper shell There is fire There is brightness There is your best throw There is an ocean of gasoline set aflame There is the sun
0
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 12:58 PM UTC
The Collective
There is no chair There is no room There is no house There is no town There is no county There is no state There is no country There is no continent There is no planet There is no stars There is no orbit There is no celestials There is no sun There is black There is a gasoline ocean There is waves turning There is waves crashing There is a matchbox in your pocket There is your hand reaching for the matchbox There is your finger opening the box There is your match-strike upon the sandpaper shell There is fire There is brightness There is your best throw There is an ocean of gasoline set aflame There is the sun
michael-depasquale
Written by
michael-depasquale
American
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 12:58 PM UTC
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