Mockingbird did taunt, the you and me within,
ego’s tea-cake fallen, to have and eat, begin,
as soul does ride the morning road and self sits,
by the window, sighs at melting rain, bewitched,
befits the sky and wind. As spires of churches
distant, rise sharply ever up, so was the bread,
of spirit, scattered, through stars and woods, and
hills. The rabbit hunches by the pool, blue water
tease at life, to read with steady smile, mouth thin
against the strife. Temptation then is swearing,
again, the call is heard, palm in whispered caring,
as south the song does stir. Cold canal meanders,
madness in the mind, as twisting, searing, turning,
apocalyptic ride. Neck of day is stretching, the
throat of night is held, and out of hell are hurling,
the hounds of Fate, full-haunched; eternal tide.


About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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