Rich Soil - Gord - Aspoet


2022-07-19 10:35 pm
Meaningless draught, meandering feeling,
Bar talk, believe not the sweet whispering,
Thinking things talked in the deep darkness,
They aught, talk turns to action,
They are what they are.

Sinking stone, mephitic toad of the ocean floor,
What does the heart wish for? Winning wars?
Logistic growth? Cathartic revolt? Ownership?
Satan, do you hear your kindred souls?

Card or cash, is all they know.
They see fawns freeze in the snow,
and move on, it's things seen from a car.
It's part of a laundry list of misgivings,
They want what they want,
They are what they are.