Words have no value. Poetry is dead. There is no room for poetry in progress. We are gluttons that feed on words embedded in lies. It is truly the time of the word assassin.
Words dissemble
Words be quick
Words resemble walking sticks
Plant them
They will grow
Watch them waver so
I’ll always be
a word-man
Better than a bird-man.
Discover more from Sandbox World
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
Be First to Comment