Front Page

In by Wyatt on July 25, 2010 at 12:28 pm

It’s like gold dust.

Those sounds abound in the air
in your ear
there and here, everywhere

creating and making new philosophies
Criss-crossing me
grip rocking the
roots of inner tribulations triumphs and victories
memories of lake fallen leaf berating me
She waking he,
he  taking she,
they flaking free,
the Anthology.

Slapped back by the rhythm
and the beat’s still thick
slippery quick
sliding down a hill on an oil-ice slick
in an eighteen wheeler lodged way up shift

But it keeps rolling, this barely breathing
seething mass of bricks
like tetris
sexy music
seducing your hearing.

  1. wait I like this poem! i just wish it wasn’t an advertisement ha

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: