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.

at

1 comment:

  1. Beysshoes3:18 AM

    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.

    ReplyDelete