Comments about Wes Wilbur
Tales From Under The Bridge
They sink because they can not swim.
Hordes of people suffer in the festering water.
Children recieve their first unholy baptism.
The butchers and the Kings sing merilly above.
The people below them push and shove,
for something small shiny and untenable,
glimmering like Byzantine gold, it floats into the abyss.
The arches above connect lands of prosperity,
the swarms below can almost smell the growing depravity.
Close now the piece shimmers, close enough to hold.
But gone like it appeared because they did what they were told.
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