Wise Gig
If you fortune a tangent,
You’ll get a stash,
A rill of crescents pageant,
Old and holding the gash.
Perception not able,
The dynamo dies in the land,
Normal cable to stable,
The bearings of negates and hand.
Piercings whisper through the ears,
Wheat quakes to sliver rum,
Dermis exhalted the overdraft years,
The pollination riffed the drum.
Chrysanthemum sung to oak,
To know the structure is of the silk,
Bacchus architectured folk,
When muscle, mind ruptured n’ did silt.
Copyright © Dominique Webb | Year Posted 2019
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