UntitledA Poem by Wilyem Clark
My weirding, wilding arrow
Pierces a dozen hearts a day, But all are immune; They have renounced passion For quotidian qualms. The escalators I ride Generate static selecticity-- Gather ye charges while ye may-- That's the only thrill life confers on me. People aren't outgoing these days, They only go out to go back in, Home to their spiffy spiral shells With cuttlefish gates and piranha mindsets; Everyone, everything is against them They say, So let them gnash their whitened teeth And waggle their fins in paranoid terror . . . I don't care, May they wither and perish, Trapped within their spiral shells. © 2016 Wilyem Clark |
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Added on October 17, 2016 Last Updated on October 17, 2016 AuthorWilyem ClarkWashington, DCAboutI've been writing poems since my teens (now in my 60s) and prose since the 1990s. It's been hard finding decent forums online--the free websites too often suffer sudden deaths. My "published" works ar.. more..Writing
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