Poem -
after
the brilliant
sound
repeatedly
mortally
the white-hot
credence
spins
with
the scorched
time
I
slumbers
round
the distant
power
anyone
poses
the brilliant
sound
repeatedly
mortally
the white-hot
credence
spins
with
the scorched
time
I
slumbers
round
the distant
power
anyone
poses
Comments
Post a Comment