Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Turning screws That twist with a croak A hammer in square nails Boots echo down the stone staircase Tall machines made of brass Perfectly greased gears twist against Bright red tune of strings Twist tunnels in the black of my mind Underground trees Billiard ***** tap in the next room Where men hunt weak women With long black teeth Collars stained red blood Go to sleep in my family name Someone taps nails In my coffin
0
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 11:02 PM UTC
Cerveza
Turning screws That twist with a croak A hammer in square nails Boots echo down the stone staircase Tall machines made of brass Perfectly greased gears twist against Bright red tune of strings Twist tunnels in the black of my mind Underground trees Billiard ***** tap in the next room Where men hunt weak women With long black teeth Collars stained red blood Go to sleep in my family name Someone taps nails In my coffin
jacob-1
Written by
Equatorial Guinean
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 11:02 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem