Sean Cosslett Moore Poet Free verse

Eye Baggage

how desperate
  the disparate
   the they that are
	seperate
   and hypocrite
whose bassett eyes
      have weary arms
 and longest hours nocturnal
are gardeners of distraction
    without traction
how wary
    are those weary
	whose clock hands
     dig and bury
   with blistered palms
with seeping eyes and open arms
    brandish brimstone in fistfuls
  trod God and shout skyward
how sad for a mite to incite
       refuse to be
  might with insight
 how sad to be man
 	with no compass

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