Mar 2018
You'll lose me on that winding road;
On the guts of you I choke.
Wrought with knots like gallows' rope,
Your poem is too long.
On the guts of you I choke.
Wrought with knots like gallows' rope,
Your poem is too long.
I love the spirit's spilling forth, but in those rankled waves I'm crushed,
Doomed never to comprehend,
Buried 'neath a city of notes.
Doomed never to comprehend,
Buried 'neath a city of notes.
