Moood Swings Poem by DAVID GERARDINO
Moood Swings
SHE sees his totality in his
evil, knuckled crusted, ways.
HIS eyes, deep pockets of
black water, his face, shaped
like a egg, his body draged
into a clairvoyant trance,
mean while the cars go
brooom, brooom, by.
can you feel it, the big man
yells, can you feel it, the
fat king yells, can you feel
it, ....stop.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
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4/24/2024 6:49:48 PM # 1.0.0.1119
