"acrobatic" poems
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway,
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
In willfully prevenient interpolation,
Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray,
Forecasts in vague extrapolation
Contrasts the millennial contagion
Already underway,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion,
Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion,
The personable recluse fighting an illusion
Breaking down the nuances of every institution.
Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity
Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility,
An opinionated adversary,
to the realist without evidence,
Theorizing in futility,
Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community.
Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified,
Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified,
Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide,
Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide,
Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified.
Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity,
As consequential regiments are expounded universally,
To unstratify the residents indiscriminately
And identify quantum elements spiritualistically,
Changing collective behavior individually,
Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 8:07 AM UTC
Plastic bags are my super villain
and no I am not Aqua Man
I am Michael a normal male civilian
of some young-adult age,
whom is still willing to inconvenience himself.
Not so old, where holding multiple objects
sounds like an obstacle too acrobatic for the limbs to handle.
One can too many knock's off the balance of the elderly
and cast them off the trapeze of a sidewalk
into a net of asphalt, where being caught is a broken hip.
No that is not me, although it does remind me
of my grandma, because to her plastic bags are her life-savers.
It is a struggle to convince my grandma that I am a great trapezist
so we can leave these bags to their solitude
and finally defeat this enemy.
Although with plastic bags it is never so easy
they have plenty of goons who are willing to do the ***** work
forcing themselves upon us at any opportunity,
even those that don't make any sense, even for my grandma.
I Went to Best Buy and bought a brand new movie,"Unfriended"
and I got it for my grandma to watch, since she's a bit technophobic.
This movie will haunt her; for ghosts **** people through the internet.
What will haunt me is Destiny, the worker, handing me a plastic bag:
with a 13-ounce, smaller than a piece of paper Blu-Ray inside
...without even asking if I wanted a plastic bag.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 6:34 AM UTC
*Pristine dreams of gossamer
in fantasies of white
This is what i hope will guide
my slumber on this night.
Rainbows in a sky of blue
with clouds of grey beyond,
Ripples lapping lilypads,
upon a golden pond,
Butterflies and hummingbirds
in acrobatic arcs,
Shade in grass beneath a tree
with choruses from larks,
A cool breeze on a summer's day,
my love within my arms,
Clouds that block the blazing sun,
a coyish smile that charms,
Stimulants for senses
in a countless, vast array,
Gratitude for blessings
i enjoy most every day,
All these things and more i ask
when sleep mine eyes doth close,
But most of all, a peace within,
and love that always grows.*
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 11:56 PM UTC
She handles the **** with a commanding presence
Has it standing at attention when she’s gripping
Flipping her tongue giving my **** acrobatic lessons
Treating my ***** like wine when she’s sipping
Got me calling for god when she’s delivering my blessing.
Nov 3, 2024
Nov 3, 2024 at 12:50 AM UTC
You are the velvet to my lace, the freckles on your face, the rocket to outer space when i’m forgetting why my feet need to hit the ground.
You are three seconds away from a sunrise when I desperately need the light, you are a cup of tea and wisdom, and you are a giggle at just the right moment while the blood exchanges ideas between my wide-eyed fanatic manic panic mind and my static acrobatic heart.
You are love and a smile when everything around has fallen dark. We fall down the seasons, each leaf turned to green as the time is subjective as valued.
we fall down the winter of broken glass and torn kneecaps and into the summer of understanding and patched hearts.
We fall down the stairs of the boy who was the blank slate and into the arms of the boy who painted his stone happy.
You are the living room of my soul, where all the pictures make us smile just to look at them and the quilt on the couch is beautiful enough to make up for the small tear in the corner. Where the cups of tea sipped are innumerable as the curls on your head and the watercolor windows open past our souls and into our worlds.
Someday we’ll be able to keep track of our socks and get enough sleep but right now I’m still figuring it out. I’m still trying to connect the sky to the tree to the earth to the tesseracted interaction theatrical statement of who I am and what I will be. We will become.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 11:28 PM UTC
The revolutionary ardent
Bordering on a prophet
For democracy's advent,
Up on grabbing
The rein of power,
With a superb
Acrobatic bent,
For a tyranny
An example set
For political thugs to emulate!
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 9:30 AM UTC
You
Are untamed
Reckless blood and wit intertwined
A twisted, brazen
mind.
Your mind
Is so clearly different
It leaps and soars, so acrobatic
And your thoughts appear to me so hazy and enigmatic
Your mind is simply not pragmatic
Yet your perception knows no bounds.
You have thoughts that come close to insanity
That sometimes flow in the form of profanity.
Your spirit
Is either very high or very low
Up and down, to and fro
There is no in between for you
Some say you are stupidly crazy
The dull ones say that, the ones too lazy
To see beyond the rugged surface.
The subdued and vapid ones
Will never understand the magnetism
Of your sweet, exquisite devilry.
On your face you often wear
A fierce and restless stare
A wan, discontented expression
As though you're always awaiting
Something bigger,
Something better.
You
Are fluid, swaying fire
And I will never tire
Of watching you burn
I can see you brain boil and churn
As it reels into into areas of
madness and chaos.
Your psyche
Is an endless field of dark reverie,
Of fear and vagary.
I know your night terrors
Your savage dreams of death
Screams and bated breath
Unutterable visions
The grotesque world of horror thats spins itself out
And dribbles into your drawings
All those creatures, skeletons gnashing and clawing...
You
Are gentle and thoughtful
Yet you are terrified
Of this dark thing that sleeps within you.
Your eyes - they’re stunning
They’re tempestuous,
Wild, like some fierce animal peering out of a rusted cage
Oh, your eyes
They are something beautiful, but annihilating
Like Autumn crocus flowers, innocently poisonous
Lids splaying delicately like its violet leaves.
You are tall and strong
And uncontrollable,
And your smile
Is the biggest paradox I've ever encountered
Childlike
And fatal.
You are not
A creature of the commonplace
You are not a slave of the ordinary
You are not a mindless drudge of the mundane
You are free.
Or bewitched, what's the difference
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 5:21 PM UTC
Upon the arboreal dozed and limb,
Extended coccyx serpentine loose,
Throne of inspection, tenet and dumb
Stillness hunts akin stealthy Mongoose;
Except for the natal locomotive
Soft deep sufficiently immense purr
Emanating from some industry; effective
In the cover of the thick supple fur.
The lord of his unconquered empire,
Thrives on flesh and quenches on milk,
Wintering unperturbed reading the fire
That flickers, gleaming his bed of silk.
Ever landing on appendage quadruple
Acrobatic athlete not soiling once his back
Consummating in strict concealment marble
Couch of perpetual indulgence buried black.
Jun 23, 2012
Jun 23, 2012 at 5:35 AM UTC
THE RAVE DAYS
THC
H20
Ecstasy
Recreational Dreaming
And And
Very Yes
Excessive Screaming
HAVE LEFT AN AMBIENT HAZE
Heavenly Limbo
Acidic Elation
Velocity Futuristic
Erratic Trance
Acrobatic Artificial
Nonchalance Manipulating
Bass
Intelligence
Eternal
Narcotic
Temptations
Hacienda
Astoria
Zoo
Enclosure
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 8:33 AM UTC
Gaping voids attached
at velvet hems reveal
An oscillating, silky shrine
of serpentine appeal
A sacellum of spit
where crimson vipers preach
A sermon dispossessed of words
on biting without teeth
Two lithe reptilian wrestlers
in acrobatic trance
To recompose the primal theme
from the procreating dance
They sway in mirrored unison
as heaven’s gates converge
They lick their tongues in twisting prose
and gustatory tones emerge
In this bacchanal of senses
where feelings taste of spoken sights
The serpents molt beyond their essence
onto a plane of new delights
There they share a sounding vision
muscles blink in harmony
Hissing iridescent rhythms
At last, the panting cyclopes
reach the art of seeing
eye to whispering eye
through the instrument of speech.
Jun 27, 2018
Jun 27, 2018 at 5:29 AM UTC
BULL FIGHTING
(WITH A CLASSICAL TOUCH)
* By Raj Nandy*
(I)
The Minoan Civilization of ancient Greece,
Was well centered in the Aegean island of Crete;
And around 1600 BC this civilization had peaked!
Seeing their frescoes, and paintings on potteries
and vase,
Scholars concluded that ‘bull-jumping’ was
perfected as a gallant art!
Those jumpers grabbed the bull’s horns, -
And receiving momentum from its violent
head-jerk,
Vaulted over its back in a somersault,
To land on both feet to break their fall!
I was spell bound by Minoans courage and agility,
Their acrobatic feats performed with such
dexterity!
Those bulls were not killed and no blood was shed,
Some acrobats might have been injured instead!
What a shame for our bull fighters of date!
(II)
Today bull fighting has become a popular sport,
Where the bull gets slaughtered amidst loud applaud!
I recall those Roman amphitheaters that remained
jam-packed,
When the Gladiators performed their fatal acts!
But even those Gladiators had a chance to survive,
Our cornered bull has no place to hide!
Friends, to see blood is an age old thrill,
But none would like to see their own blood spilled!
(III)
Our Matador today is like a popular Rock Star,
While the bull becomes a martyr in the pit by far!
The bull’s mighty horns are sharp and strong,
Can lift up a man like a rag doll!
But when the Picador lances the bull’s ****
The bull never gets a fair deal and jumps!
Next the Matador waves his ‘muleta’- a red cape,
The bull makes a final charge but cannot escape!
I wonder if the bull sees red!?
The Matador then amidst much pomp and applaud,
Spikes the neck severing the bull’s spinal cord!
He is greeted by flowers and cheers of ‘Ole’! ‘Ole’!
Let us learn from those Ancient Minoans, -
That's all I have got to say!
- by Raj Nandy
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 9:28 AM UTC
The city arrives peels
of silvered bird laughter
Acrobatic chords frost
death train November in
Girl Pure Sugar and
Day of the Dead lavender
The streets are burning
The names of ghosts curl
on tortured papers
Beyond the slithering ruin of
the skull etched Yucatan
ball court
Your voice burns in my
pulse as I hunt
The jaguar
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 9:46 AM UTC
OH..TO NOT HOLD BACK!
Unleash my full love attack
Atomic..Explosive..Seductive...Erotic
Pure energy charge when I plug into your socket
Words do no justice on how I can crush this
Animal magnetism feel my lust is..
More than "just one" can ever handle
Pores pour danger feel my scandal
My mystery flows blissfully
Covers every inch of your skin
Alone we are innocent together we are sin
Vibrate turn you on body becomes a machine
Erratic stirring motion whips up your cream
Deep kisses..skin caressing..open neck I attack
Not many can handle the punch I pack
Stung by my poke..change up stroke
Body..Mind..Intertwine creates mental smoke
Body language telling tales
Tossing tumbling scratching nails
Tongue acrobatic generates ******** static
Overdose from pleasure become the magic
One last trick yes its nice and thick
Tell me favorite position go ahead and pick
Legs unfold to please you is my mode
Hands explore while your juices explode
In and out feel me tap..tap..tap
Let me rip like Jack..Unf..TO NOT HOLD BACK!
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 5:44 PM UTC
i must be some sort of permanently exhausted pigeon;
claws clinging to the telephone wire
drearily blinking my way through
the morning meeting of the aerial acrobatic society.
i am a seagull swarmed
amongst the chirpy conjecture
of these early birds;
and my soul caws an honesty,
a wail, a howl, the truth.
i am a tainted swan
grittily paddling myself through the marsh
we call this world,
a lone observer of the acrobats,
the stickiness of my feet keeping me
flightless.
and you are a swallow;
redbull wings migrate you to warmer climates.
you hear the seagulls
but listen to the pigeons.
you notice the swan
but her murky shallows are too icy
for your liking.
and you are a chicken;
blind beyond your own free-range vicinity.
you catch the pigeons as jet planes,
and the seagull's whisper is alien.
you don't know miss swan.
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 8:02 AM UTC
Can't you feel my screaming heart?
I feel all yours and it's unbearable
To know everyone's intention may seem ineffable
Though my passion is emotion and empathy my art
Dwelling silent in a crowded room
To the right a pursuit of lust
And my left a lack of trust
Empty grins with their facade and doom
Another item has been stolen
My peers in an unknowing uproar
I see the culprits guilt pour
From his weary eye and coven
The ***** swoons the love of an unworthy patron
She gazes at me with a tempting question
Attempting to construct my envy and affection
My will is stronger than that seducing notion
The lonely man makes a joking inquisition
All the rest see it as a laughable gesture
I look with sad eyes to see his slouching posture
He wants to die in his pathetic position
The muscle bound dunce smacks his lips
Glorified as the acrobatic conversationalist
Strapped men in shackles and girls can't resist
His compensated shortage of yays and yips
A quiet smile looks on with a perfect mask
Playing pretend with an inglorious burden
Faking a life inside of her chaotic garden
Of hollow theatrics in which she basks
There goes the lad with his flippy hair
The little ladies want a picture with the fellow
Oh you're so rad the flocking lasses bellow
And, you wonder why I don't seem to care?
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 10:07 AM UTC
Upon the arboreal dozed and limb,
Extended coccyx serpentine loose,
Throne of inspection, tenet and dumb
Stillness hunts akin stealthy Mongoose;
Except for the natal locomotive
Soft deep sufficiently immense purr
Emanating from some industry; effective
In the cover of the thick supple fur.
The lord of his unconquered empire,
Thrives on flesh and quenches on milk,
Wintering unperturbed reading the fire
That flickers, gleaming his bed of silk.
Ever landing on appendage quadruple
Acrobatic athlete not soiling once his back
Consummating in strict concealment marble
Couch of perpetual indulgence buried black
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 6:46 AM UTC
I remember when the circus first came to town,
The village people eagerly came to see from all around.
Every wild animal on wheels was caged in tow, followed by colorful clad characters on foot sure to give a spectacular show.
I remember when I first entered beneath the great big tent and caught the grand act of the peculiar pink elephant.
Get Your Peanuts, Popcorn, and Hot Dogs Here! The Concessionaire yells in a hearty cheer.
The taste of cotton candy, the sounds, smells and the sights,
Above me a man balances on a tight rope from a view of an incredible height.
For the kids, clowns twist and shaped balloons in all odd kind of forms,
And stuffed themselves in a tiny car with a toot, toot of a funny sounding horn.
The feathered ladies on horseback perform daring acrobatic stunts, as in place the horses prance and dance in a parade of extraordinary pomp.
All eyes are on the lion tamer in his tails and fancy top hat twirling a chair and cracking a whip at the growl of the big man eating cat.
Tigers jumped through flaming hoops, as human cannonballs towards the sky their bodies shoot.
Little doggies do flips for their treats as acrobats fly through the air performing death defying feats,
Or what could be more delightful to see than a bear riding a unicycle or perhaps even three?
Finally, comes the grand finale, then soon it is time to go home, the tents have been folded the rides have been loaded the performers and the animals have all gone.
On their parents strong shoulder kids are carried off in their sleep with sweet dreams of, fun rides and toy prizes, and candy apple treats.
Ferris wheels and merry go rounds, the bearded fat lady weighing a hundred pounds.
I remember a girl on a wire, the boy that spits fire a man with his head in the jaws of a tiger.
Reminiscing of the time when the circus first came to town
And the village people eagerly came to see from all around.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 8:26 AM UTC
Wake up, stare out your jagged window at the yellow-green, creeping mist that pours through the suburbs. Taste darkness inside a spit shined, stream lined dank tank that your roommates call home. Shower and be appalled at just how unshapely you have gotten, your body a testament to your diet of Wendy’s and alcohol. Go to your dream crush, thankless job and stand at attention as the human flesh wave moves blankly through aisles and registers, even as they pretend that they are not the target market. Watch as they consume ferociously violent DVDs and smart devices at discount prices. Stand startlingly still and pray to God that they are like Tyrannosaurus and can’t see movement. Realize you are a ******* idiot because you get your facts from movies. Feel fear and dread make a shrapnel nest in your stomach when you understand that this might be the best that you can do. Frame count with fellow claustrophobic agoraphobics and call that pointless perfection pursuit escape. Desperately have twisted, quasi-acrobatic *** with every woman that is willing, but not so secretly wish they were that somewhat mousy, yet charming, grad student who makes your coffee every morning. Try to shrink into her pocket, invisible, only an absent touch away. Hope that someday you can intervene in her life positively so she notices you there. Go to sleep and breathe in that yellow-green vapor that reacts with your cells and becomes a clean cancer. Rinse, repeat and pray for that big break.
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 10:31 PM UTC
Perfected form of hurting someone in a graceful matter
performing butterfly kicks
and acrobatic spins and flips
call it martial Arts
A simplfied and universal way to write the language i speak
with nouns being a base for connecting the verbs
and adverbs and pronouns i read
call it language Arts
knowing the law and how to debate it as a citizen
so when i in trouble I can prove the officer
wrong or right before i get thrown into prison
call it liberal Arts
Drawing an interpretation of life, or an event or feeling into a picture that breathes life into a room,
adds beauty and awe to all who glance at it in 2 seconds
that causes an toddler to want to reach tiny hands at it, in order to grab
call it Art
manipulating words into a beautiful image
that can be interpreted into any meaning managed
that breathes life into the person as they imagine it into their mind
causes them to think about things they would've never thought of and evokes more than just feelings of awe
but awakens the personal space of their beings
let's call that Poetry
:)
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 2:58 AM UTC
*the twigs are still and quiet
indeed the birds have flown
soon it'll all be ice and snow
and shrubbery in a white gown
as everywhere traffic seeks ease of flow
i see that the birds have flown
and that no more grass has grown
no more daffodils, lupine and hollyhocks
or the bluebirds, larks, thrushes and nightingales
that jimmie rodgers waxed lyrical about
one swallow i see in acrobatic show
of frantic rhythm to beat the snow
but futile its extravaganza ever is
for one swallow does not make a summer
i see that indeed the birds have flown*
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 6:52 PM UTC
O cool baby, Smoking Lady
woman of elegance, lady of ease and poise
O Mysterious Lady
of charm from hair done
in style right down to concealed feet
O my wildest dreams are written
in the curls of the smoke you exhale
and for such Eastern finesse and dreams
I’d kiss each of your delicate fingers exposed…
O cool baby, Smoking Lady….
the zen of life is in your parted lips;
O you demonstrate the zen of smoking
and my desires are in the ocean of your clothes…
O Elegant Lady
maybe we could smoke a peace pipe,
you smoke and I smoke
you pass it to me and I pass it back to you
and then peace blowing
could take us to where we could put mouth to mouth
and blow each into the other
all the smoke into each other
and we tumble over each other
and your hair will be as my wildest dreams of you
and your clothes almost meager
as befitting the heat of summer
and so discover each
the state of the lightness of smoke-lovemaking
O cool baby, Smoking Lady
woman of elegance, lady of ease and poise
my acrobatic thoughts float at the sight of you
like the curls of smoke you send up to the gods
Feb 9, 2011
Feb 9, 2011 at 12:56 AM UTC
you are all of the mind’s dirtiest trick:
a weathered image of Magdalena,
a sleight of hand and a swirl of skin.
defying the laws of inebriation like a culprit
set loose, or the pallor of the moon excreting its habiliments.
the old rancor of the tree from its spurious beating. vestal buds of autumn
frugal hands of drizzle in April, prostitutes pirouetting, pried open,
dissected in faces of the tabloids (their almost acrobatic supremacy on centerfolds)
all mangled like the unclear, yet certain picture of a 1990s havocked
retrospect.
you are all of the mind’s filth: a putrid modal-jazz entrapment
and I am that sad fellow at the elbow room of some dislimned establishment
falling as lithe as poppies in spring
only when my mind starts to sing freely, a clenched, harmonic framework
will my bones start to unloose in the ether, death with its ammoniac perfume,
closes in like an unwanted visitor with a bounty of silence drowning everything.
i imagine you anything but lustrous this evening.
there are certain points in the pressures of your gravity
that levitate to mere intersections of the finer points of ecstasy.
i imagine you all soft and plump as a word of salvage
without the vigor of blandishments when you start with your
own way of moving i imagine you as blunt as a dull knife
plunging into me – i imagine your sidereal satellites fail in their coverage
over impossibly the blackest of skies in February,|
i imagine you anything but clean
and all white and spruced up with the most
drenched light, real to the touch and swiftly moving across the afternoon
like wishing you all but perverse and anomalous
and strikingly beautiful.
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 8:27 AM UTC
Darling, you can be anything you want to be.
Just pick yourself like a chocolate. Admire the red foil that engulfs your small fingertips with that smile you do as the caramel swims between your rose tinted lips.
Pick yourself like a flower, like that snow drop the fairies plant every February under the apple tree, or that single rose that pricked your finger, the red one you once gave me.
Be an astronaut and bring me back a star. Wrap it up like fish and chips and we can watch it shine when the time comes for you to kiss me goodnight for the last time. And I will appear, my sweetheart, in the place from which you plucked it from in that velvet patchwork quilt we call a sky, and I will watch you, always from afar.
Be a surgeon and find yourself the biggest heart. And when you do, let your darling love you and love your darling back. And when your darling hurts you, do not try to fix your broken heart with liquor or lust, but patience and promise, as your heart is the strongest ***** in your body. It keeps playing the most beautiful music when all else fails, and whatever God you choose my darling, he or she will listen to it always, even if that God you choose doesn't exist.
If neither these excite you, be an acrobatic swimmer and keep yourself afloat. Be a carpenter and build yourself a boat. Be an academic at Oxford and stand up and say 'I am a ******* academic at Oxford' and stick your finger up at Mrs Lewis down the road whose children have 'the potential' and gloat. Or be a mother like me, and know how to always make the world a whole better place with just a smile, a mothers grace.
But darling, if anything, just be you. As you are perfect. Not just perfect because you make the air dance with just a mere breath, or because you can sing the alphabet backwards, but because you are you.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 8:51 AM UTC
I drive my bus
Full of grotty kids and lunatics
On the bitumen dream
Where middle aged mothers with boxers' eyes
Weep from the sidewalks of toy-trashed suburbs.
Driving my bus,
Through the unfolding flower of dawn
And through the tangled tears of night
Where the boisterous poor
Wilt in their gardens of excess.
Driving them home,
Driving lover to lover,
To their acrobatic fields of fire,
Driving the madman raging in his seat
And the girls with rainbows in their eyes.
Driving
Driving
Into the sorrow beyond the sky
And into the hollows of the lonely hearts
Who linger, speechless, at my ear,
As we drive, and drive.
Where the gutter ghosts rattle their dying coughs
Into the emptiness of night
And the half-cocked girls smoke toughness and cool
And the burning boys
Writhe in the furnace of desire.
The streets are crying in the pools of time
And the dogs are howling in the summers of their heat
While the ladies are waiting at the corners of our youth
With their handbag smiles,
And the faces we will never see again
Go sliding, Go sliding by.
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 6:31 PM UTC