we
are
an
std
in polyester & blinkers...
he cries from his soapbox
mad beard
a sail
in
the
high street exhaust wind
& we map out our
failed potential...
he cries
one watery eye
always
running
milk
theres art
lost
in the salt mines...
he cries
arms in heaven
no socks
in his
nowhere shoes
loose laces
grass snakes
in the gravel
&
the
rubbish mountain
hidden
inside
the sea...
he laughs
like freedom
on the barricades
warm special brew
&
overdue catch 22
in
his
thin blue
corner shop
carrier bag
limo on call
interview at 1
computer
he cries
end program
from thebusinessinsider.com.au
No comments:
Post a Comment