Get Your Premium Membership

The Drone's Retort

If I'm to be the neck you fit inside a noose, then spin me up a soul. When you can define it - and find it - you let me know. Until then, Mother-Father fix your own malfunctions. This universe is your slaughterhouse. I just work here.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2015

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

Date: 4/12/2015 8:43:00 PM
Feels like your language is not just informed, but also inductively informating with my brain, which I am so glad is not illegal, and I so hope is not immoral. Interesting mind; interesting words and composition. And, with me, "interesting" is a very good thing.
Login to Reply
OHara Avatar
Bryant OHara
Date: 4/21/2015 4:30:00 PM
Thanks for good words, Gerald! I look forward to checking out your works as well.