"sped" poems
At last you have departed and gone to the Unseen.
What marvelous route did you take from this world?
Beating your wings and feathers,
you broke free from this cage.
Rising up to the sky
you attained the world of the soul.
You were a prized falcon trapped by an Old Woman.
Then you heard the drummer's call
and flew beyond space and time.
As a lovesick nightingale, you flew among the owls.
Then came the scent of the rosegarden
and you flew off to meet the Rose.
The wine of this fleeting world
caused your head to ache.
Finally you joined the tavern of Eternity.
Like an arrow, you sped from the bow
and went straight for the bull's eye of bliss.
This phantom world gave you false signs
But you turned from the illusion
and journeyed to the land of truth.
You are now the Sun -
what need have you for a crown?
You have vanished from this world -
what need have you to tie your robe?
I've heard that you can barely see your soul.
But why look at all? -
yours is now the Soul of Souls!
O heart, what a wonderful bird you are.
Seeking divine heights,
Flapping your wings,
you smashed the pointed spears of your enemy.
The flowers flee from Autumn, but not you -
You are the fearless rose
that grows amidst the freezing wind.
Pouring down like the rain of heaven
you fell upon the rooftop of this world.
Then you ran in every direction
and escaped through the drain spout . . .
Now the words are over
and the pain they bring is gone.
Now you have gone to rest
in the arms of the Beloved.
36.7k
Give them to me.
All the pieces of your broken heart.
Give them to me.
I'll take them.
All the rough-hewn misshapen bits of your shattered dreams.
Give them to me.
I will take them.
Give them to me.
They are wanted here.
All the parts of your misspent childhood. All the regrets of ticking seconds behind you.
Give them to me.
And we will build a cathedral. A stained glass window of who we are as tall and as beautiful as it should be.
Let me have them.
And we will make a mosaic that stretches as wide as the sky. Showing every color your heart gained from the bits and pieces left on the ground.
I will take them.
And forge a sculpture of how beautiful the ideas are that we cast out in our failings and we will cast it in our failings.
Let me have them.
And we will ***** a monument of all the small things in the shape that you remember them.
Towering. Looming. Striking. Beautiful.
Let me have them so we might bind the words said and regretted, (or worse) left unsaid in leather and call it scripture.
Our Psalms. Our Proverbs:
*“The tip of my finger dangles like my tongue. Wanting to touch something beautiful.”
“If it were not for him, it would have been us.”
“You were all my brightest colors.”
“I wish I were more like you.”
“I wish I were less like me.”
“I am sped.”*
And we will read them at dawn like litany.
Stretching our voices to the corners of the universe. Asking for the wishes you make when you are scared. Or alone. Or both.
That we may take them.
And make a blanket.
A blanket to cover our childhood and let it rest at last.
I will take them.
All the parts you no longer want.
Give them to me.
Because they are what make us beautiful.
Give them to me.
That I may forge them into pitch and feathers and craft mighty wings.
That I may take flight from your worry. And soar on the updraft of your misconception.
Give them to me.
I will take them.
Because I would rather burn like Icarus than to have never dared to fly.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 4:02 PM UTC
I heard the footsteps as they came across the road;
The snap of hurried feet outside the house.
Shapes in the moonlight, a voice in the darkness,
A knock at the door, I heard the dogs barking.
The bleating of the flock,
The chatter of the birds amongst the trees,
I recall the whisper of the morning breeze;
Hyphening the broken silence as two boys stole about the house;
It was midnight in August 99.
Two sparks set out to chase the bang!
Bang! ~ set them running.
I cut them down; I cut them down!
I heard the sirens as the cops sped off the road;
The squeal of hurried wheels outside the house.
shapes in the moonlight, a voice in the darkness,
A knock at the door, I heard the dogs barking.
The bleating of the flock,
The chatter of the birds amongst the trees,
I recall the whisper of the morning breeze;
Hyphening the broken silence as two cops stole about the house;
It was midnight in August 99.
Two cops set out to chase the bang; Bang!
I put my hands up and the cops took me down!
Judge I’m guilty, it’s true for everything they said I did; I did!
But there were reasons, don’t you see:
These boys; they were bullying me!
I called the cops on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, came round again; still no one came; drove me insane;
Two sparks set out to chase the bang!
Bang set them running; I cut them down!
Two cops set out to chase the bang!
Bang! Yes, I put my hands up!
and the cops took me down!
But Mr Wolf gave me twenty,
and the circus came to town;
for as a victim I was lonely;
but as a killer; as a killer; I was crowned.
Newsworthy, top of the heap, the talk of the town!
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 2:40 PM UTC
To live in Wales is to be conscious
At dusk of the spilled blood
That went into the making of the wild sky,
Dyeing the immaculate rivers
In all their courses.
It is to be aware,
Above the noisy tractor
And hum of the machine
Of strife in the strung woods,
Vibrant with sped arrows.
You cannot live in the present,
At least not in Wales.
There is the language for instance,
The soft consonants
Strange to the ear.
There are cries in the dark at night
As owls answer the moon,
And thick ambush of shadows,
Hushed at the fields' corners.
There is no present in Wales,
And no future;
There is only the past,
Brittle with relics,
Wind-bitten towers and castles
With sham ghosts;
Mouldering quarries and mines;
And an impotent people,
Sick with inbreeding,
Worrying the carcase of an old song. To live in Wales is to be conscious
At dusk of the spilled blood
That went into the making of the wild sky,
Dyeing the immaculate rivers
In all their courses.
It is to be aware,
Above the noisy tractor
And hum of the machine
Of strife in the strung woods,
Vibrant with sped arrows.
You cannot live in the present,
At least not in Wales.
There is the language for instance,
The soft consonants
Strange to the ear.
There are cries in the dark at night
As owls answer the moon,
And thick ambush of shadows,
Hushed at the fields' corners.
There is no present in Wales,
And no future;
There is only the past,
Brittle with relics,
Wind-bitten towers and castles
With sham ghosts;
Mouldering quarries and mines;
And an impotent people,
Sick with inbreeding,
Worrying the carcase of an old song.
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In passing with my mind
on nothing in the world
but the right of way
I enjoy on the road by
virtue of the law—
I saw
an elderly man who
smiled and looked away
to the north past a house—
a woman in blue
who was laughing and
leaning forward to look up
into the man’s half
averted face
and a boy of eight who was
looking at the middle of
the man’s belly
at a watchchain—
The supreme importance
of this nameless spectacle
sped me by them
without a word—
Why bother where I went?
for I went spinning on the
four wheels of my car
along the wet road until
I saw a girl with one leg
over the rail of a balcony
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'Twas all so beautiful a sight,
A long summers night; The sacred stars were burning bright about our mother moon.
The wind filled the sails above the waves, that sped us through the sailors tales, and brought us to a deep lagoon.
We cast our nets out far and wide, then watched them sink below the tide, which rattled out a tune for me and you.
We hauled aboard the silver fish, to fill our bellies and our fists, then set off home with seagulls squawking tunes.
The wooden boat now tied about the quay,
its tattered sail and rusty cleat,
gently tug and tug the rope upon the swell.
come to sea!
You know me well!!
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 8:23 AM UTC
I used to flip through my pages
Scanning
There were some interesting points
Some high, some low, some kind of just sitting in-between after the good and the bad cancelled each other out, but mostly I
Skimmed by,
Until I met you,
You can't be summed up, there's too much to you, you're too rich, too deep
Too interesting to be confined to a few measly paragraphs and sped-read through
You deserve attention, you deserve time,
And the more I've gotten to know you, the more I realize you're the entire book, the entire story in beautiful, vivid detail.
I'm going to take my time getting to the end of you, and I dog-eared the page where you entered my heart, so that if I ever forget how it feels to fall for you, I can go back to the start
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 3:14 AM UTC
She strolled down a winding pathway, admiring the brightly colored roses, listening to the loud chirping of the birds
As she walked,she hummed a tune of joy and followed the path marking on a map, just to reassure herself that she was heading in the right direction
Around a turn o the left she went, then back to the right, as her pace sped with every step
But then the beautiful path that she'd been following for so long fell into a babbling creek, only to continue on the other side
Had she, excited for her long journey, mistaked this path with the one she wished to take?
"No," she decided, for she checked the path a million times before beginning, and she was positive she had journeyed on the correct one
Should she give up on her journey, only to turn around and go home?
"No," she told herself, for how could she live with herself of she gave up on her dream?
But how will she, small and dainty, cross the sputtering creek that lays before her?
She gazed at the creek in front of her, considering walking alongside it until she reached a spot where she could walk across
"No," she determined, for there was no way of knowing whether there'd be a break in the flood of water, and even if there was, she'd be lost in the forest, continuously searching for the path
She glanced from left to right, searching for something to aid her in crossing the creek
To the left of the path, she noticed flat stones, the exact size of her foot
"Yes!' she exclaimed, as she sets them in the creek and skipped across them
She was back on her way, strolling down the pathway, headed towards her dreams.
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 1:49 PM UTC
The sunrise greets the morning dew,
to paint the sky with a vibrant hue.
The last night has passed and a new days has come,
advertised perfectly by a morning’s sun.
Alarm clock birds hold no button to “snooze,”
nothing left from yesterday, so now nothing left to lose.
Go hesitantly wipe the sleep from your eyes,
and politely greet the oncoming sunrise.
The blissful sunset that once held the night,
sped off within our starry eyes so fast.
The brilliant, blinding, shining light,
tragically drifted off, lost in the past.
It separates the long days from the glorious dreams,
and divides them into hostile, opposing teams.
A sunrise and it’s rays can always carry hope,
that maybe one day it’s possible to move on.
Either surprise fairy tale, or tasteless joke,
maybe my sense of humour is just somewhat wrong.
So remember to always bless a sunrise,
but never, ever more than a sunset.
Both light up the passing, fading skies,
that cover our shaking regret.
At night, we all strive only to peacefully sleep,
to **** the hours before the sun makes horizon’s leap.
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 10:30 PM UTC
A seldom heartbeat echoes
joined only in silence
by two lungs, contracting, expanding, observing what an outside world holds.
A seldom heartbeat echoes
as luscious lust lurks around plush lips
whose innocence has been clouded by a 'so-called' virgin's touch.
A seldom heartbeat echoes
fueled by romance
pumped through veins of which only cold blood remains
jealous of exposure to feminine frame.
A seldom heartbeat echoes
sped up only by that of long lashes
curved by the hazel stare of hypnotic eyes
perfection from legs and thighs, up to blushing cheeks
a shining smile, could make your day for weeks.
A seldom heartbeat echoes
joined only by an echo of a neighboring heart
whose echoes are echoed
which only time could tear apart.
A seldom heartbeat echoes
whilst butterflies in stomachs roam
and whispers to the neighboring heart
know that you are never going to be alone.
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 3:36 AM UTC
As I look back into my life
I think to myself:
"I sped when I was a boy. I sped
To out-distance time."
But now when I look at the dark-green rocks
In my neighborhood, by the trembling docks,
I say to the rocks: "I go, you stay.
You stay for the winds to breathe upon thee."
(c) LazharBouazzi
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 9:52 AM UTC
There came an image in Life’s retinue
That had Love’s wings and bore his gonfalon:
Fair was the web, and nobly wrought thereon,
O soul-sequestered face, thy form and hue!
Bewildering sounds, such as Spring wakens to,
Shook in its folds; and through my heart its power
Sped trackless as the immemorable hour
When birth’s dark portal groaned and all was new.
But a veiled woman followed, and she caught
The banner round its staff, to furl and cling,—
Then plucked a feather from the bearer’s wing,
And held it to his lips that stirred it not,
And said to me, ‘Behold, there is no breath:
I and this Love are one, and I am Death.’
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The boy haden't bathed in over a month
His **** crack was itching and burning
His underpants were soaked in slimy, wet muck
And his toes a thick jam were churning
His armpits stank worse than a fat pigs raw ***
His breath smelled like rancid fish
His hair was so oily, matted to his head
His own mother wouldn't give him a kiss
"Enough!" he cried as a passing fly died
When he raised his arm to exclaim.
"I must bathe right away! I am long overdue!"
"I sure hope the washcloths are brave."
"To the bathroom man!" He shouted as he ran
And his underpants sloppily squished
"I will remove this filth and brush my green teeth"
"And my mother I will kiss!"
"The closet's ahead!" He said as he sped.
And he stopped there to get some stuff.
Some soap, some shampoo and a towel or two.
But he knew that it wasn't enough.
Look though he might, to his horror and fright,
Not a single washcloth could he find.
Then panic set in 'cause the stink of his skin
Was driving him out of his mind.
He looked yet again but to his chagrin
The washcloth shelf was bare.
The washcloths had run off
For they would not wash
So filthy a boy on a dare
"Oh what will I do!" "Boo-hoo, boo-hoo!"
The boy cried as flies swarmed his head.
"I'd **** myself but I already smell"
"Far worse than anything dead!"
Then one washcloth came back
Holding it's nose and a sack
Of bath salts that smelled like dill.
It said to the boy "Go pickle yourself!"
"And give me a nausea pill!"
So the boy rejoiced and filled the tub
With water, hot as he could stand.
And using the bath salts, he jumped right in
And the pickling began.
He lathered the washcloth with water and soap
And scrubbed with all of his might.
Away he washed all of the filth
'Til none was left in sight.
He washed his hair and brushed his teeth
And dried and dressed himself well.
And the washcloth exclaimed as it hung on the tub
"Holy crap! that was pure hell!"
So the boy now clean ran to be seen
By his mother he loved so much.
And she gave him a kiss and said "This is pure bliss!"
"I can kiss you and keep down my lunch!"
The moral I'll tell you and true I will be
So no one will say that I lied.
Don't wait a whole month to take a bath
Or you washcloths may run and hide.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 7:53 AM UTC
Just because it's suggested doesn't make it right.
In the hands of teachers, other staff.
What other purpose could this directly serve.
To defend our institutions.
To further endanger those around.
The knowledge instilled from book to teacher a different practice.
Now holstered, hidden in the drawer of a desk.
What goes through the mind of the victim that's been bullied.
What training can be set in place to stop the next bulletin.
Shooting across the screen.
The kid in 10th grade that carries the weight of the world.
Sitting all day staring out the window.
Mother in hospice.
A fragile thought swallowed by deafening silence.
It no longer becomes a listening session of encouragement.
The after school sessions of comfort sped up.
Another bulletin of hysteria fired across the screen.
Teacher student affair.
15 year old student found with 42 year old man.
When in reality she was seeking help due to a troubled home.
Afraid to sleep knowing the door would creep open.
Leaving her terrified to close her eyes. The relationship between step daughter and father without boundary.
Where's the specialty training for those who care.
The proper resources that extend beyond that of a pamphlet.
The dark skin kids that's made fun of because they look different.
Stereotyped as aggressive.
The dope boys, the baby mamas.
The light skin girl that's made to feel inferior because she turns red with every hit.
Her hair is longer than theirs so she wants to cut it.
Aggressively forgetting all the beauty she possesses.
The active shooter managing to make it pass the metal detectors.
Rallying the attention he didn't get at home.
The debate carries on across every wall except the right ones
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 11:33 AM UTC
*So I went to the campus today, for the first time in a long time. I smoked cigarettes outside of the the lecture hall with some kids from the eastern block whose names I could barely pronounce. They were talking about McCarthyism in a language I couldn't understand - snippets in English - an American history exam. I cut class again, for a reason I can't quite trace, just lost sight of it all I guess. Or maybe I was wishing it could have been a little easier. They never gave us a course in what it means to try, you know? It just seems as if the only thing that stops us from doing the things we love is a fear of failing at them. Thinking about this on the walk home made my head sick and my heart sad, and so sleeping through the rest of the daylight seemed like a good way to get by.
I met up with the friend, later in the evening, he was at the local venue. He had his hands in his hoodie and his Adidas were swinging over the side of the stage, head bobbing, and rhyming in time to the beat of an electric bass drum. I asked him to buy me a beer and he slid his last two dollars over the counter like he always does when he notices my lower lip quivering. I didn't ask him about the doctor's and he didn't ask me about my black eye. I told him to tell me the story again, the one about the cool kids he met in the East Village and he did, he told me about the whole encounter in the snow, with the lights, and how badly he was shivering. I smiled that type of smile, the one that ends up with your lips curved the wrong way and wished I would have went with him.
The waitress that hates me gave me a ride home again so her uncle could close the place down. I offered her one of those Ukrainian kids' cigarettes that I swiped but she said no thanks, and I was glad I had more. She knew this wasn't going to be the last time she did me a favor, the way my track record was but I like to think she doesn't mind too much. I invited her inside but she said she had to run, maybe next time. She told me to try and hurry up and finish school so I could give her the world, and then she giggled and winked at me before she sped off. Back to bed, I had a long day of bullshitting myself ahead of me when I awoke.*
Nov 13, 2011
Nov 13, 2011 at 4:11 PM UTC
A few years ago
I fell in love
Racing 60 mph down a 45 zone
Clutching the seat and the door
Of a 98 nissan sentra
Hoping to get the hell out of that car
Because i couldn't stand him anymore
His reckless turned me on though
In a way that opening that car door
Seemed like an exit strategy
I didn't need to take after all
The darkness that encased the car around us
Seemed like the perfect mood setting
For the thrill we both wanted
And for me what i needed
Love didn't understand that
My fear for speed
Resembled my fear for life
Life always seemed to flash by to fast
Like it always had some place to be
And i wanted to remain still
I wanted to take a picture
Because i knew it would last longer
Instead of it always changing
And rearranging itself
Love drove me through the streets
many countless nights
Expanding my perspective
Reversing my sense of direction
A feeling of protection
That i didn't have before
Love gave me reasons
To speed through life
To not be scared
To every once in a while
Let go of the handle
That i strictly held onto
Love became my life
And i thank god
Each and every day
That i didn't take
That exit strategy
That i sped away into the night
And lived an actual life.
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
*Her prized first bike
came out of a breakfast cereal competition.
Then sped her around London
from lecture to final examination.
Twenty years on it was replaced
by gleaming white and black carbon.
Bought, lacking in memories
faster, lighter with a baby seat for Bethan.
Fitness, a priority this year
swimming in the pool, open water and the sea.
Clare selected a running coach
cycling home at an ever higher cadence for tea.
Happy, with her performance
in her very first event as a triathlon novice.
A second, saw Clare pedaling faster
to race past fellow competitors with ease.
In her last competition she was pictured lithe
on posters promoting reactive sports glasses.
Winning a new Felt racing bike, seats in the VIP stand
for the Tour de France finish and her fit lasses-ass*.
My congratulations dear hero...
Jun 25, 2010
Jun 25, 2010 at 10:26 AM UTC
Night funeral
In Harlem:
Where did they get
Them two fine cars?
Insurance man, he did not pay--
His insurance lapsed the other day--
Yet they got a satin box
for his head to lay.
Night funeral
In Harlem:
Who was it sent
That wreath of flowers?
Them flowers came
from that poor boy's friends--
They'll want flowers, too,
When they meet their ends.
Night funeral
in Harlem:
Who preached that
Black boy to his grave?
Old preacher man
Preached that boy away--
Charged Five Dollars
His girl friend had to pay.
Night funeral
In Harlem:
When it was all over
And the lid shut on his head
and the ***** had done played
and the last prayers been said
and six pallbearers
Carried him out for dead
And off down Lenox Avenue
That long black hearse done sped,
The street light
At his corner
Shined just like a tear--
That boy that they was mournin'
Was so dear, so dear
To them folks that brought the flowers,
To that girl who paid the preacher man--
It was all their tears that made
That poor boy's
Funeral grand.
Night funeral
In Harlem.
4.2k
you're that biological catalyst that alters, speeds up (our) reactions.
with you, the fastened heartbeats, the holding of hands, the chaste kisses--
they all sped up.
with a snap, you've gotten me,
all feverish affections strong and thick.
you've got me, got me!
i am that substrate bound,
bound to your tantalizing active site.
what possessed me to persist staying there,
i'll never find out.
but i forgot, you're an enzyme,
and enzymes never change its form
when they've altered its substrate.
and silly as i was,
pitiful little substrate,
reduced to that of a broken form,
in just a snap, snap!
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 4:16 AM UTC
I never knew a heart could feel
the pleasures of a smile;
But when I saw your gorgeous face
I felt I'd run a mile!
My heart sped up and blood ran hot
while flowing through my veins;
I knew right then, deep down inside
I'd never be the same!
If this is love, I must be new,
I've never felt like this;
For now I've found right here on Earth
a smile of Heavenly bliss!
I've sought for you my whole life through,
made far too many tries;
But now I've found my one true love
with gorgeous Angel eyes!
Now that you're mine, I've come to see
you're gorgeous out AND in;
Since you've became my Queen of hearts
my lover and best friend!
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 4:30 PM UTC
Big Four Railroad
In the past a little one had an interest in this story and one of the racers and the longest freight train
The race team was in the living room and their story was being read from the paper mother clueless
We laughed and snickered about our secret that old engineer was proud of us we were not vain
Down the hill we sped past Bino’s station across Jackson the B&O; he was high balling we had to pour it
On between the two tracks he was closing the gap he had nothing to lose but his pride for us it was
Curtains the long black limo a one way ride we streaked the line fifteen feet to spare we just stopped
And turned what a salutation from the engineer half hanging out the widow of that great engine his
Balled fist a shaking you sons with the deafening roar of that train so close we didn’t get to hear the rest
And the train carried him on down the track so Jerry and Larry and the other guy continued on to the
Swimming pool pleased with our speed we forgot about it until on the front of the paper in the bottom
corner it read three Pana youths out run train I guess the old engineer cooled off as he sailed on down
The track we didn’t know he talked to the tower as he passed so we didn’t get first prize or a blue
Ribbon but in a small way we entered into the great and wonderful tales of train lore along with Jessie
and Frank I told you when in trouble I had three actions fight talk or run that day the running won the
Day for these three amigos this memory was triggered by that same old paper this time it was talking
About the Amtrak detour I remember those passengers all those years ago setting there in their seats
flying through our town and the hook and the mail sack from the tower where that old bakery could be
smelled all night all the way out at the park as we watched tables for old F.S. Refinery I’m glad we didn’t
race a passenger train or this would be a hamburger story enjoy G.H.
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 11:53 PM UTC
From vales of dawn hath Day pursued the Night
Who mocking fled, swift-sandalled, to the west,
Nor ever lingered in her wayward flight
With dusk-eyed glance to recompense his quest,
But over crocus hills and meadows gray
Sped fleetly on her way.
Now when the Day, shorn of his failing strength,
Hath fallen spent before the sunset bars,
The fair, wild Night, with pity touched at length,
Crowned with her chaplet of out-blossoming stars,
Creeps back repentantly upon her way
To kiss the dying Day.
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i threw rocks at time
tried to shatter the face of each clock
that mocked me today, but
i was unable to slow the seconds
that pulled me away from you
feeling childish, i gave up
and time paid no mind to me
as the bus sped away
and i walked home, my mind spinning
with visions of plane tickets and suitcases
and the spaces hidden around this city
that we've been occupying all this time
i saw sunshine smiling down upon rough, empty rocks
and a hill sloping steep toward the water
that we sat by
and i saw the places i have yet to show you
and i am so sorry, but the happier i am
the worse i feel
as the days slip past me
and i am always one step closer
to leaving
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 2:29 AM UTC
It was in total a fast track ticket to the moon
and I can't return to transaction dock 8 too soon
the star checkout lane at my local supermarket
tops balloons with rocket science aeronautics
that pilot's service areas binary counter perfect
exceeding expectations bent into global orbit
My items sped along to muzak her slim milky way belt
a smile beaming discount countdowns heaven sent
taking off in bit lips when her priceless item buttons
almost burst free to air with a strain of special promotions
helpfully assisting my every excess flight of fancy
made impulse buys a baggage allowance necessity
She stroked parts of her radical laser station
to fully engage hygienic wiped spills of imagination
and I felt the warp of hyperdrive tangelo engines
urging me into a dive to scan juice ripe tangerines
a last minute save fuelled by stalling flashback cavities
gyrating in tight nets as we escaped earth's gravity
With a twist of her wrist I was into fits-the-bill ecstasy
as the whirr of electronics cut loose such quality
with a lick of an index finger our mission was bagged
handled too efficiently for any danger of jet lag
no flyby chance to not exchange standby coupons
my trolley emptied of offers too galactic to pass on
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC