these are gurney-rolling days

these are gurney-rolling days
dark druid bottles of ale
are tempted by wild innards of I
in a slaughter kind of a fashion

dreamt scourged remnants bones
limbs by the number
there is so much for the hell of it
for the I cannot tell the difference
between a gun or a loaded carrot

stones need no stereo effect
there are gaps in the retelling
sleep is not an option
gentle does not come into it




Poetry by Bob
Read 551 times
Written on 2015-11-04 at 23:30

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