Wandering Lost

A metaphor stands before a wooden door,
Worn smooth from many a knocking knuckle,
And sadly turns away.
A metaphor in the tavern roar,
A metaphor in the fray.
A metaphor in the penny whore,
Who turns her eyes away.
A metaphor sits upon the floor and wonders if there’s more,
Than sawdust soaking up spilled ale and blood,
But the mess is swept away.

Published in: on July 28, 2010 at 3:27 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Breaking Branches

Neon heap
A toss of the die
All the monkeys tumble down

Branches sweep
Tropical sky
All the monkeys tumble down

This is war
Baby, don’t cry
All the monkeys tumble down

Card house floor
I don’t ask why
All the monkeys tumble down

Published in: on September 18, 2009 at 10:04 pm  Leave a Comment  
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