Pressed Poem by Kevin Eaglesfield
Pressed
They call and cry and crave and flirt
That have their fruitpress lives;
Tangents and greener grass
Squeezed through grim-faced slats.
Me to turn the screw back one,
Upturn the grim-faced corners,
Then when it becomes wine again,
They drink
With as you were.
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5/4/2024 4:03:06 PM # 1.0.0.1119
I admire the style of the poem and like the relations u have implied, well done.