Some saw steel as a hurdle A material, creatively, infertile It had no use in a Tudor Chapel As void an object as Eve’s apple
Innovation died with, past, ingenuity A true lost sense of congruity This defined the apparent nature of a coward A form vacant in Howard …(A car electric powered, Clear history soured.)
P.S Eter Ellers
Walked in, mud on his shoe The substance looked like a mound of poo Cleaned it off in a decorative pool Down river, ran the stool
Birdie Num Nums scattered about Soaked with water from a concrete spout Furniture moves with a life of it’s own The will to which is hardly known
An invited pest An awkward guest Painted skin The Party is FIN
Futuristic Nostalgia**
Two are split by the same division A line drawn with accurate precision One's caught in the hands of a time piece running fast Frightened by setting it too far past Another’s caught in a backwards flock Allowing time to tenderly stalk Neither finds it clear to see Present tense is the place to be