Waiting for the man

No clueless wannabe hang around
can ever find its way into my sun,
where I, bound by the one true sound,
waits for nothing more than a last run
with enough money to last for a few days.

I am the apostasy of all dead aims,
of all things fallen due to a lost cause.
There will never be a war of flames
fought for the sake of a silent applause
or a dress that is totally out of place.

Thus the final dare is a wave of coils
billowing through all wily expectation,
a teeming cross of wills that boils
to the speed of all things in acceleration,
speeding up to the all inclusive praise.




Poetry by Bob
Read 643 times
star mini Editors' choice
Written on 2009-05-15 at 16:52

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Eli The PoetBay support member heart!
It's been a long time since I've read it so I can't be entirely sure; but I'm feeling shades of Kerouac's "On The Road" in this. Thanks for the enjoyable read, and the drifty flow.
2009-05-19


Kathy Lockhart
interesting read, leaving me searching my own coils and those things for which I do or do not seek praise. congratulations on Editor's Choice.
2009-05-19


Editorial Team The PoetBay support member heart!
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2009-05-19