Here are three hundred and seventy-one letters
write gibberish aimed at me.
We can warm up with haughty language,
cumulus white skies that brim with rudimentary quarrels,
as we watch an apprehensive apprentice appreciating an amateur.
Perhaps a devils activist entertaining a lawyer,
might spin supplementary lie- swathed webs,
Appeasing an imaginary stranger that whispers at night.
Liberate the unsheltered side,
In merely ten lines.
May 23, 2012
May 23, 2012 at 12:15 AM UTC
Here are three hundred and seventy-one letters
write gibberish aimed at me.
We can warm up with haughty language,
cumulus white skies that brim with rudimentary quarrels,
as we watch an apprehensive apprentice appreciating an amateur.
Perhaps a devils activist entertaining a lawyer,
might spin supplementary lie- swathed webs,
Appeasing an imaginary stranger that whispers at night.
Liberate the unsheltered side,
In merely ten lines.
http://poemsaboutpoetry.blogspot.ca/
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