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- Poetry > Free VerseMass production consumes like a fire, The fuel supply, The motive to tire. With sickening smiles tearing at cheek fat, Gleaming eyes of oppression hiding under dark bags. Suits pressed so flat and stitched with no color, Their fat, happy bellies spilling over waist covers. I'm politicall...
- Poetry > Free VerseYou were leaving last night, The moon alluded to the time. Inevitable illumination, Prodding at the sky. In a state of sickness, And that of sore eyes, Earlier than usual, To bed, Your covers will tide, They'd rise and wrinkle, Over the silhouette in which I've been held. Past bidding me ...
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