The Goanna Is My Brother
Six cod and two turtles
And the Goanna
But he's my brother
So I would not hunt
Or kill him
You know that
A window is
Not a chimney
But in the hazy
Blue smoke of
What they call
Borderline depression
We refuse to pop
The pills prescribed
And climb out of the
Hole we dug
Only you can change
Your circumstance
By the power of
Your own will
Rust never sleeps
And I still can't lick my elbow
But the glimpses of truth
And reality are
More frequent now.
Copyright © Uwe Stroh | Year Posted 2015
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