Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
I'll grab the year by its ******* nostrils drag it through a mirth-soaked Autumn. I smell another couch-bound month,           so I'm churching up November nights           with chips on sour luck "Who're you to judge?" Well, I'm the ****** with the gavel                                           in my hand and a burning, short fuse in each eye And I'm sentencing this lengthy Fall to muster up some wherewithal; to keep me off the ******* pile of scraps                                          'til next Spring. Make this the Year of the Dog                                      if you must but understand I'm not a lamb or a lion or an ox; I'm a windy, cloudy Saturday,-- a kid from out Wyoming way-- The only guess I've got is keeping still means getting lost I'll grab the year by its ******* collar shake until it bleeds the future. Drag it out--I'm gonna drag it out toss it on the pile of burning years                                  to light my face. Keeping still means getting lost. Burning years'll light my way.
0
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 4:41 AM UTC
Overruled
I'll grab the year by its ******* nostrils drag it through a mirth-soaked Autumn. I smell another couch-bound month,           so I'm churching up November nights           with chips on sour luck "Who're you to judge?" Well, I'm the ****** with the gavel                                           in my hand and a burning, short fuse in each eye And I'm sentencing this lengthy Fall to muster up some wherewithal; to keep me off the ******* pile of scraps                                          'til next Spring. Make this the Year of the Dog                                      if you must but understand I'm not a lamb or a lion or an ox; I'm a windy, cloudy Saturday,-- a kid from out Wyoming way-- The only guess I've got is keeping still means getting lost I'll grab the year by its ******* collar shake until it bleeds the future. Drag it out--I'm gonna drag it out toss it on the pile of burning years                                  to light my face. Keeping still means getting lost. Burning years'll light my way.
kyle-kulseth
Written by
M/American
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 4:41 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem