Post War
When morning's palpitations lament
He exits a drowsily constructed tent
a clown tired of the juggling maze
rather be inhabiting a Hendrixian haze
erase conciousness from his temple's altar
inevitably, the brains soft shell cracks and falters.
Words parachute like skydivers delcared heaven spent
He's asked by his "friends the media" what's his bent?
Do child prodigy conformist rebels go through phases?
get taken in by the latest fads or fashion crazes
or every five seconds dream of women wearing halters
Will you smile like the fish who reeled in his potential captors?...
Micah Zevin 2007
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2 comments:
I dig this one. Is it part of your novel in verse?
Andrew
Ditto...what Andrew said.
Lianna
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