The Fort Poem by chris bowen
The Fort
sleeves of blood.interested in only fourty weight, the fifty nill, did spill, blood.all is good, every neighborhood has a wooden fence with roses yet to bloom growing across.will the wind whip nill stalls? will the horses call, say amen? will the fidgeting ever stop? the best deal i ever got was to watch a booty drop.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Topic(s) of this poem: wind
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8/17/2026 10:07:12 AM # rel_20260813T193622Z_3aad590
