Poem
A Sunday at the typer
In a quick store
Watching shoppers come in
And go out
Thinking of where
I should go next
In a dream or with the wheels
This isn't the norm for me
Idle in public or indecisive
Even at home I'm active
Doing nothing
There is wind today
A chance of rain
I'll let the moving air
Direct me to a baptism
Sure of no belief at all
Aimless as this galaxy
Pointless as this universe
Controlled by god
With his explosive finger
Please don't pull it
It smells bad enough
As it is
Barry G. Wick
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment