Jacques Andre Boiffard, Big Toe series, Untitled, 1929
Pride of the cartel,
Was a lost cause,
He swerved to his right,
Fell for the gloss.
Blank noise from the sun,
Blackened her hopes.
She stuck to the pole,
Like silhouettes of gods.
The bride loved her mother,
But She fell onto their arms,
The wolf and his other,
Half brother, the lover.
The prisoner smelt freedom,
Died an instant death,
Poisoned air, they say,
Is free and easy, these days.
3 comments:
killer man..wrong profession
the desperate urge to control,
fate, destiny and self,
but we orbit the sun, seeing
everyday the ironies of being.
wow...these lines are great! good...you are back into blogging keep dropping by.
taut and tight
poisoned airs, they say,
is free and easy, these days.
a whack that numbs gently with a mocking smile .......
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