“…there’s grave dirt on my hands…and I ponder how many dead…are in the grit under my nails…” ramjetpoetry’s “Some sunshine,” is spellbinding!
dumb, drunk and unhappy
shuffling feet in a barnstorm
clapping nostalgia on the back
the knives’ out just for show
if this wasn’t love, I’d label it scorn
I am a collection of lines
in old and forgotten songs
dusty hymns sung to the low
ultraviolet dope down dawg
collared flea-bitten mongrel
of a steed bent on bad knees
weak, in need of a peek
at anything that can bring
some sunshine
Fostered gasoline children
foment rebellion from our nether
regions apart by river and wall
side by side on the map
to go where you need to go
we all need a guide
but take your time
choosing your ride
always remember:
it is not the destination but the journey
that takes life from you
pantomime the beat of carotid drug
cultures entwining in evening
sojourn, dinner’s on the table
it is getting cold
I smell smoke and realize
View original post 86 more words
erichmichaels 