Tuesday, October 25, 2011

poem

it's no wonder how it drips onto the wall
tackling crumbles down to their greatest heights
lumber punches swifter at night time
varicose glass handles rambling their procurements
languishing in tube station holidays with verses of steel, vices of corrugation
there's a tooth robbing fruit sitting near a partially encumbered plastic wrapper
waiting and hoping in a vice grip of anticipation

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