Sometimes there’s just no poetry
and…
you sit and watch the clock and the
steady movement of the hands slo-
wly reach out in search of a drink
is as close to love as you can get
lost in the faces of strangers as they
pass by on the street signs speak
foreign words and remind you of
how far you are from home is only
a memory fading like bright colors
in the sun faints again at the app-
roach of the darkness does not care
that you are alone in this room wat-
ching the hands of the clock.
SMG
is as close to love as you can get
lost in the faces of strangers as they
pass by on the street signs speak
foreign words and remind you of
how far you are from home is only
a memory fading like bright colors
in the sun faints again at the app-
roach of the darkness does not care
that you are alone in this room wat-
ching the hands of the clock.
SMG
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4 comments:
ha. the lack of punctuation and the end words of sentences starting other sentences serving double purpose is really cool all from watching the hands of the clock move tick
Thank god somebody understands my crazy invented poetry form. I have named the form "Runaround".
At first it seems random then delve deeper and it is tight very tight brilliantly done
I am curious about what the waitresses said! I love bad verse in a country song gone wrong and hope falling like a stone.
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