In fiddle-wrecking, mustard-seeking, grasp for comprehension.
Should we wreck
the sacred fifty-five?
of honesty-compression and lugubrious self-exposing,
word-explosions beyond the mind-expanding borders of
the sacred fifty-five.
Should we paint-by-number Friday-ode’s to the grey-mundane?
Should we ink-dance outward to a braille-horizon?
without your sacred fifty-five.
how could we cope?
Is there a hope
of sacred fifty-fives?
I wrote a poem for G-man‘s anouncement that he will not sell his Harley, but he will cease the Friday 55.. hopefully replacement will step up.
I also link this to my own kenning prompt at dVerse.
March 21, 2014