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.

2015

◄ Moral Arrow from Crooked Bow

Lodge ►

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