Gobbldegoop

Author: Angeles Elite Ratio:    3.87 - 5 /13 /19 Words: 103

Class/Type: Poetry /Nature Total Views: 1559 Average Vote:    No vote yet. Bytes: 650

Description:

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Gobbldegoop

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Not the air I'm sleeping under, aloof A weakening ray of light upon the lawn; No fleck of paint on the ledge On the wind-swept road to Old Bawn Not a deepening grimace in the dirt Like stones scrumming their mute erection The beaten up walls of the owner A written magician conjuring rooms Like every thinking skull that's made of clay Picking his brain as lips begin to murmur That insects know the rote of your decay No, the slow blend of one day to the next Like soup, their silent language as time’s passing Through the house is

Submitted on 2016-08-17 23:36:36     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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Comments

gobbledegoop eat some poop but traitors to art took all of my gobbledygook. -------------- Thanks for posting the piece. Favorite line: On the wind-swept road to Old Bawn I don't know, but certain places have these lovely names that strike an image or impression to me, as if the name itself has some magical power of sorts that transport you there upon reading or saying the word.

| Posted on 2016-09-17 00:00:00 | by Pietro | [ Reply to This ]

Torn? It felt like maybe that could be the last word.

| Posted on 2016-08-18 00:00:00 | by Chelebel | [ Reply to This ]

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