Gord
2021-02-04 03:12 am
Open lies, a world full, Ocean tides, border known, Mapped upon a mobile phone, Burning eyes, wait in line, A door, for more control; Face comes first, defines, Then maybe later stones. Which would be more alone? Sitting German in Lederhosen, Burning all my former clothes, Formal close, cutting ties; Or a heart of glass, love inside, Which fights a world, nothing like?
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Gord
2020-11-12 06:34 am
He writes on reeds, Rides on steeds, Likely feeling. He sees the sea, Steels a seal, Greets, then eats. He wastes away, Hastily his days, Vast mountains sway.
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