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26-07-2007 15:59
 
they 
 
congregate  
like dead things  
along the edge 
of the highway  
hiding in wait 
for a target 
of opportunity  
tied to a curriculum  
of confrontation 
clenched fists 
worn to the bloody bone  
by pointless pounding 
against stone 
whining 
sulking souls  
whose hate  
you cannot alleviate  
no matter  
whose ashes  
you offer 
to the wind— 
 
rust-covered 
voices of departed 
artists howl 
in laughter 
as they look down 
on this sorry 
sack of discontent
Guest
  
DB Cox
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