Life through a Box Hedge

Creep, crawl, silent, lay beside, in sun

thick through suburb upon suburb of choked thought.

The tunnel whereupon whispers, are false rainbows.

Some say rage is justly-founded, others twist

a blind eye and sleep, stretch, lazy dogs;

dead but moving, in painted shadow.


◄ Moral Arrow from Crooked Bow

Lodge ►


No comments posted yet.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message