Sunday, April 27, 2008

Spent Poets Union

We,

worn out coiners,

pages of tomes
pricked by
needle-eyed
pedants,

are spent.

                                     Out of breath
                                     and on the run
                                     from death's
                                     stifled orison. 

We,

torn out corners,

sing to somber shades
of the clamorous city
Siren cries of home
forged in harmony.

1 comment:

Beysshoes said...

Taking liberties once again ...

Corners of a book
abused by
needle-eyed
pedants,

We,
Worn out coiners,
are spent.


Out of breath
and on the run
from life's
songless refrain.

Unite and sing
under the yellow
lights of the
septicemic
City.

The plaints
of the homeless
beckon us
.... to Home


A Siren calls
... finds all in
Harmony.