Sitting in a ditch, but don't really mind it.
Feeling the cling of the mud on my thighs
and my shoulders and my eyes, self-service.
What do you mean? Who cares? Just words, words roll on,
tumble out on the ground down the stairs,
disappear into nooks in the corners of the world
in the shadows or in the depths of the meadows.Please drop by, have a look;
take what you wish and bugger off,
my gnome is more important than my letters.
I have no time of my own, (that is if time can be owned)
to be sold to those green little hands in the river.
Then I peer at the shiny surface, catch a face of fright and I shiver.
An eye with a strong handshake, not a fake,
not a tower that crumbles with the flicker of fan from the palms of the hands of a geisha.
Not a patch, not a trick, not a cover, not a stunt,
not a joke, provocation or just smoke.... but the core of the matter.
And it matters.
MyWackoSpace
MySpace Slideshow
MySpace Generators
MySpace Comments
MySpace Codes
click here
