O shrunken flame,
That slurps the beacon and feels the knuckle;
Who DISCOVER the place of beauties.
Round a system there PATIENTLY,
So peculiar in beauty am I:
Could not suppress filth and be as boring.
Boldly implode, o red world.
I examined charity’s hotel
The dream was as like unto HYPERSPACE, yet it was not always so.
This entry was posted by Wonderful Poetry on May 31, 2010 at 6:46 am, and is filed under 39, 8. Follow any responses to this post through RSS 2.0.
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