Thirty
Interstate souls...
wandering through this age,
a highway of indulgent self-loathers
searching for the sun in someone else's
smile, their toothpick remembrances
brushed white with years
and sold for a handful of copper,
pennies from an assembly-line Heaven,
wages of original sin.
searching for the sun in someone else's
smile, their toothpick remembrances
brushed white with years
and sold for a handful of copper,
pennies from an assembly-line Heaven,
wages of original sin.
Paul Kimball
No comments:
Post a Comment