Poetry: Real Time (Almost) Volume 5
The loin filled lust is ringed with inks of neediness, words still not uttered are caught up on forbidden lips.
Passions not spent are sent out on the midnight mail train, over the seas to your cart track lane.
Rents are paid and uniformly collected, the rejected voices echo to the sound of the wolf.
That rampant rim of discord finds accord with you again, the same words spoken at least a thousand times or more…