by Richard Trotter
There is no understanding
spinning heads and strange aquatic eyes
granite words cloud the sun
and drown the Christmas cavalcade.
Not a single answer
when feet pound the woodcrushed lane
round the imagined sins factory,
this anguish is playful
like the devil on cocaine.
Posted on 12/14/2003
Copyright © 2020 Richard Trotter
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Sam Roberts on 12/14/03 at 11:24 PM|
This is bloody brilliant!
I especially like the last 2 lines, they work really well x
|Posted by Ashok Sharda on 12/17/03 at 02:28 PM|
'like the devil on cocaine.', what a illustration! Great piece.