Lucy shoots daisies
Lucy loves all daisies
that shoot from the hip,
never looking back.
She is a handful,
never breaking the lamp
of all concluded,
never dipping her finger
in the pot long revered
amongst tribes of further vision,
never leaving space
to its own making.
I drive an ominous bus
down self inflicted avenues
with solar certainty
and mooned to the gut.
Seascapes dripping of dark blue,
waves that smell of gulls
and gargled rocks,
wash my final fret
with clover and thyme,
with dark corals and sand.
Poetry by Bob
Read 1388 times
Editors' choiceWritten on 2006-11-27 at 01:49
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