Straight Into The Simile
Becoming bologna, this is not my god:
This is just another
Comic book left
Outside to understand the elements of
The usual bird:
There she is, cleaning herself through
The usual elements
Of her available estuaries:
There she is just doing as she’s told.
Whilst the average Christmas trees
Are sold and sold.
And sold:
Oh, old bold wound; oh, old gold wound:
Same natural element happenstance
Through the preternatural heavens:
Just as same old grave song,
As seems to be happening through same
Old natural grave song:
Presupposing through the same old
Elements of the rose:
Seems to be grossing this way:
Seems to be crossing anyway, as anyway,
I suppose: just as the laments,
I supposed, anyway, held between the teeth of
Anyway- elements, anyway,
Straight into the smile that happened to have
Held the rose.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Added by Poetry Lover
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