Outer Space
Even in deep space, your love holds me down, Your embrace has weight, and keeps me coming, back…
In London-town of yore but
yet, even to this very day,
slovenly bovine herd
together on conveyor belts.
Chewing cud, eschewing
mud, unconsciously mooving
to have their carotids cut.
Alas, indignant adults,
aren’t we, too, on a slow
march to our own deaths?
Like vermin labyrinthine
lab rats trapped in some
spider’s web—we’re all
ultimately pawns in some
twisted game of Chess.
“mud, unconsciously mooving”
— Fleet Street.
Even in deep space, your love holds me down, Your embrace has weight, and keeps me coming, back…
How many times can I fall for a different version of the same mistake? I trip & I tumble,…
I wrote you a four page letter, we've been back, back, and forth, and forth, I really needed…
Read between the lines— the words often left unsaid. Worries that weaken the warrior, exclamations…