stale me not in dribbled times

stale me not in dribbled times
of running for mercy
between burning cement
and coins dropped
at the turn of a whim

stern floats on the Bowery
are rejected by pale masses
slow timed into oblivion
congregating in tunnels
abandoned by the subway

redeemed by the clergy
sanctioned by the soiled cloth
reverence is a poor choice
when facing fire running
or young boys lost

(February 27 2018)

Poetry by Bob
Read 426 times
Written on 2018-03-09 at 11:52

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Your imagery always happily ensnares my attention, and enchants the mind unfailingly! Good to wake up to three of your poems.