On
...and the warnings rang strong
...and the cauldron wheezed
...and the magma lapped at strapping branches,
genetically equipped, with a passion,
for protecting the bulb
...and the poet rhymed on
...and the emperor, Nero, has resurfaced
...and the swinging, singing, stinging swarm
cycled back
...and the funk of it reached fecal proportions,
surpassing sweetness of rotting racoons
on the roadside
...and the poet rhymed on.
Copyright © Mark Morris | Year Posted 2018
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment