Gord

2024-11-11 09:21 pm

Red, race runner.
Race winner,
Hair, face makeup,
Gray silver.

A sliver of hope, please,
The world cometh. 

Great singers, they say,
Have a way with words,
Do they listen to yours?

When they read mine,
I expose their inside. 

Cinnamon rolls,
She eyes the icing,
When she listens to me, 
Her head is cocked back, 
As if she died.

She says,  
Cinnamon rolls are fine, 
Beige aside.

Change, paper kites, 
Beyond lime green basement lights,
Confirmation of rights.

Like what a child encased in white, 
Could possibly look like? 
Red, less waste of time.