A mellifluous sextet
circled in awed child beauty,
reserved for post-modernists
in the dead mary-go-round
Inferno. Civil war is
on the tongues of roses. Trap-
door seats, enigmatic music,
control of arms gyrating
out of American dreams.
Boring clocks toll for the death
of painters holding depraved,
easy lives in service of
stripped one-hour masters,
but we all have hair and bills,
neglect and hours setting
up appointments to escape
what we owe to turpentine
obsessions for running off.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 11:22 PM UTC
A mellifluous sextet
circled in awed child beauty,
reserved for post-modernists
in the dead mary-go-round
Inferno. Civil war is
on the tongues of roses. Trap-
door seats, enigmatic music,
control of arms gyrating
out of American dreams.
Boring clocks toll for the death
of painters holding depraved,
easy lives in service of
stripped one-hour masters,
but we all have hair and bills,
neglect and hours setting
up appointments to escape
what we owe to turpentine
obsessions for running off.
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