| |
Peach and berries buried in,
In a chemical concussion –
White and smooth, devouring,
And yet it falters,
Falls and
Alters
Tiny pieces of old faces,
Facing dents and robbery
Yet the mind still wanders,
Thunders on, to a rhythm - faked
By the God of all mistakes, and time
Still marches to a beat of dying
Meat and food, consumed by lacking skin
And shell of tin-men, well endowed,
For whom it's the quantity and wealth
That cure all sickness and ill health
Perked and darkly orchestrated,
Laminated with a bit of battered butter,
So we stutter – when the hour comes;
Round the bend, when we hit 'send',
Appropriate and neatly stacked and
Roughly racked to be presented
Who could have imagined,
We were ugly, after all.
Carmel Livni
|
|
User Rating: |
|
--
/10
(0 votes) |
|
|
|
E-mail this poem to e friend