riot upon fire at the end game
riot upon fire at the end gamestrolling like an old man
up the wintry hill lost religion
dared into ending silence
softened by parental winds
I turn pillows
I am the here of I must go now
a sub-solitude communion
a hot tub on the run
Poetry by Bob
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Written on 2018-03-09 at 11:53
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Texts |
by Bob Latest textsI seldom walkthere’s a rumor there will be no full stop so many regrets who am I |
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