Blunt Rules

by February 7, 2015 0 comments

There is nothing difficult,
Just difficulties
That bed themselves in
Daily, sometimes hourly.
Thrice, one hour
When she put her boot
Into his amnesty
With the force
Of a brass tongue
And begged Hammurabi
For a fat sentence.

So he wears her love
Like a Friesian landscape,
Kiss soft
Statement strong
And blind-eyes
The words he sloppily jirbles
Like distasteful beans,
Leashes song words
Midstream;
For radio is his saviour,
His highway to reality.

editors note:

Windows down, volume up, foot to the floor; dial your difficulties to your favorite station. (Two more mad missives from Gene on his page; about a vacation and a victory – check’em out!) – mh

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