2014 #278

Lyric masters
already took
the still of the night.
It is just not fair their brilliance
was first in line or they were more

brilliant than my meager
dreams explore or they had liberty
to cultivate brilliance for surely
agonies did not exist back then,
like the night one of them took

the still of the night. All they needed
were butter knives for cutting pies
arrayed for easy access
and containing every name
of berry and drupe. Bastards. Devils.


About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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