Groove

My heart yearns for music

It’s less has profoundly put

My ice in the kiln

And melted the device

I use for somnaptic

Dwelling. I hope to see

More than I do

In you

When the start of the remorse

Comes through with the daylight

At sunrise and eases the pronouncement

That it is dead.

I groove no more and hope

That the dead are here

In the angled form of the list

of dread I call modern

life.

BCDFM

COPYRIGHT Bruce E Saunders 2020

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

<span>%d</span> bloggers like this: