The radio song itself had died on the dashboard
the new abjudicator had shorn
the Moon like a clip board,
whose patient shadows wane,
those cornea headlights now incessant,
our sudden rasp of thirst
seemed to last until the first Sprig.
Moments we shared later recoiled,
our needless surrender held no prevarication,
yet others less incurious could only wish away this
dirt-road.
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 3:32 PM UTC
The radio song itself had died on the dashboard
the new abjudicator had shorn
the Moon like a clip board,
whose patient shadows wane,
those cornea headlights now incessant,
our sudden rasp of thirst
seemed to last until the first Sprig.
Moments we shared later recoiled,
our needless surrender held no prevarication,
yet others less incurious could only wish away this
dirt-road.
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