Freshman - 730 Points (JUNE 7 1964 / ABERDEEN)

Leave a Bomb, near the end...

Where is your energy,
fruitful poet of the fleet?

For I have not quibbled,
over what could be an
unnecessary pasting of words,

Lit up near such fine embers,
Of a glowing red fireplace,
with an old clock
shitting seconds out
of it's mechanistic hole,

Should we require divine fingers
to take apart such lack of tact,
or disbelief, with a soul burning
so close,

it teaches us how to drown
and die in each other,

For 'Once upon a time'
ladies stuck woodbines,
between the lips of their quims
and lit them,

For money or fun,
what can I say?

War is never that far away,
from this kind of thing...

Submitted: Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, March 26, 2013

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