Achieving a brisance too soon
And left labouring afterwards,
In haste or in waiting, for those
Chosen to make up the meter,
Due to the circumstance’s boon
Or particulars of cast curse,
And elbow grease is acetone
When it’s an accommodator.
So what finds me in this cartoon,
With consequence’s lazy words
Of impatient and purple prose
Laid out for fate’s grave repeaters:
A chance encounter with saloons,
Left only after ale’s blizzard,
Propped up by alcohol’s backbone
And a desire for adventure,
Or altercation with a rune,
A stab at destiny’s innards,
To puncture and metamorphose
The underneath and the outer,
Or a quick decision’s harpoon
Doing its underwater worst
To drag me further from the shown
And fill with a swill of others.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment