Would I if I could?


were the sock of cold

where once held hoof

concealing novelty aloof

from sight like gold

hid in the earth

awaiting miner’s breaking birth

or pensive thought

in marination

stewed and stowed in recreation

flowing hot

and spewing steam

as music kept within a dream

of whisper’s barking

second hand

and reaching clean across our land

with sharp reworking

from a host

of sickened will who have the most

to gain from foresight

left behind

where whirlpools will unwind

in times grown tight

with view unpleasant

trapped at last within the present


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