May 9, 2016

with gad fly abstractions


photo by Edward Rinaldi 



we gained foot holds 
wet sand somewhere 
off the coast of any where 
warmer than here, our
hands huddled over 
barrel fires burning 
anything found, not edible
scavenging food and fun 
sometimes with questionable 
methods and means 
so we tended not to drink 
so much when feeling remorseful 
on those nights we filled in time 
with our expression 
in a pin pain or forgetting 
what rhyme did to TV, once 
the "drug of a nation" 
sometimes we see 
ghost Gil Scott rail down 
the ever Sunday sermon 
aesop fable-ing atop 
marble slab-ville 
can't stand 
still stabbed 
when filled 
with you 
dreaming 
of eating 
the sharks 

EJR ©

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    1. like the brushes over the snare ...

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