Gord

2020-11-19 01:01 am

Bindle stiff of simple things,
Fake brickwork buildings,
Frugal beginning.
Mind filled with bitterness,
Still feeling ideas stone:
Life constatant, slowly.

Hands in gauze and clovers,
One makes a river of oceans,
A farm of forests, dogs of horses.
Yet smashes up against the stone,
Dark and lonely, eyes gloss over.