pocket poet

[revolutionrabbit]

waiting for the relevance to kick in
the pocket poet kept his world
in a little pocket in his poem pants
what was it about the world was it
a thousand words written across
following the other words around
the people who read them
having been taught certain things
about what to expect, here
is the low down, the world
like a ball of words, some dead
others breathing the sun
responding to impossible meanings
all set up by the ones who pretend
to know all the true ones, this hung
around for centuries, philosophers
were always in danger of pissing
off the gods, so Plato hid music
between his grand designs,a mere
poet would not have anywhere
to hide except in gypsy gibberish
along the side of the running sore
where the dogs sat and waited
for the speaker of rags and gags
to show his face on the corner
where the white moon snuck
by, floating belly up in the puddle
the muddle of shine left after
the thunder blundered through
the veil of shadows like a cloud
a clod of silver a ghost of grape
later they scrape the sunny off
the funny was what they said
only owls knew why they flew
and few fools knew how to fly
they always landed where they die
forbidden wings all in a spectral heap
she sings outside of town, taking souls
through the dark words of thick woods

[SadLuckDame]

Forgot to tell you how much I liked this, Rabbit.

[revolutionrabbit]

scool