this solstice (three years old)
windedsailor
Posts: 98
Self. Man. Mind.
The courtesies of a carousel.
yellowish lights, the bright ones on the bridle
I can ride back to madness,
while I remember how.
a courtesy to myself,
perhaps.
i can hear the coyotes howl.
Perhaps…
I thought about nickels, or dimes
or horses ridden, by the hero
Of old…
I pay the vendor a dollar,
And watch the boy ride.
The courtesies of a carousel.
yellowish lights, the bright ones on the bridle
I can ride back to madness,
while I remember how.
a courtesy to myself,
perhaps.
i can hear the coyotes howl.
Perhaps…
I thought about nickels, or dimes
or horses ridden, by the hero
Of old…
I pay the vendor a dollar,
And watch the boy ride.
Post edited by Unknown User on
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Comments
i agree with Pasta Nazi, good to see you writing.
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green