Again this dusk
I shalt abrook,
Mind million
Thoughts building,
None to listen; I'll
Hear the echoes
Across the ceilings.
I'll acknow the t.v
Screen, picture
Bright pupils dance,
Jotting word's of needing cuddling of poetic romance. Giveth me acquittance O' heavenly father, of these late-night ramblings I'd trade for a flower. To
Sit next to a fool as I, how tonight is
No different from the morrow,
affined to the dingy, as a
Prisoner confined.

©Brandon nagley
© Lonesome poets poetry