Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof

Sonnet For A Landlocked Numeral

In Bob Folder on June 14, 2009 at 3:26 am

The sampans rust into a slight nod
Feel the black shine lantern boom and Bob
Crusts against the ancient King of time
that shines and oils down a rebar rod
“I want you Bob, yes, I’ll make you mine”
Quoth she, spammed to touch the knob
fidgeting and relaxing to black the tab and sawed
blast like figs, leveling the garbage can
sings spud frogs to a healing man
he slipped and gained eight or more who ran.

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