raster punk


The Mistaken - Poem by raster punk

His fingers shift the tin type
Precision moves his wild hand
Composition before time is ripe
From Idaho's western farm land

Sweat pours in mild insanity
Drips tears into molten tin
He knows how iron tranquility
melts one from skin to skin

He is not shaken for an ancestor
So don't search for him in time
Ignoring the grassy sky sister
Meticulously, he sets the rhyme

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, April 27, 2010



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