Gord

2017-10-18 11:50 am

I have concepts for days,
Metaphors for four hours,
And wordplays for wakes.
I'm not bragging,
I'm just impaired,
Flawed above the mane.
Miscarrying paper knowledge,
Cutting loves careless arms.
She finds herself wanting,
Hair flowing, river forming,
Learning is her sophism,
So she lies until tomorrow,
Feigning disinterest ursury,
Tales of cursory, courtesy.
A verse aloft in the clouds,
Sounds out to an empty crowd,
Life of deception floundered.
World as in twitching flour,
Face equal, equivalent arms,
She curtsies and bows, turns;
Runs away, her face as ours.