Oh, The Cold Calls - Hangs On For A-Minute

I loves it when she gazed on into my green eyes wanton
That'll bring her Spring back again
If - Mind of Winter, blew coals
It was - Snow, Snow, Snow; Rose, Rose, Rose plurals
So scatter'd on sands winds
So many Winters is shallow hands were so swell & so on digs one
Rows expresses slow dances to an end?
Constant looks on so obsolete in here, Hey wait,
That's half life of whole cup
Wakes me so at watching it made some by time
Floating around indeed inside words
A grand idea how yet daily forgets I see goin" off
Bewilder'd tides torn coats besides tears ever-so
Works it out heart broke towards
Bespoke my pillow
Barefoot on the cross

Foremost departs worn by white circles in flight
I dipped my quill in
The gate's arose sun vines high we truly do have a-mystery roams
A-blooming outburst seeks petals by signs
Leaves downward most cold things floats, Wet again withouts;
Cool indifference existence shared, Wilderness;
Listens while you listens alone
Next time; Do so often. I know
Although, I understands my verses are still am,
Frames did swell in abstractions.. Intact; Backwards again
O'er the head, Beds or floorboards,
First blurr"d line reads narrow no-more
Anymore strings on high the roar
The yawn afore the run

Oh, The cold calls - Hangs on for a-minute
In a-blinding search
It was - Blank window sills hard as nails
Gathers traces goes o'er some
Hard as roses one another's hopes dawn moves me
States of all of us
Can't but water that box maybe later on images
Bending adheres imput'd
To far, far off but waves
In flows solely abouts gets thru encas'd in it.
Comes along this drifting thru & thru I start'd on

Withal poems a-single page at times causes one view; To be,
From, At dusk looms close containers
O'er these remembers;
Remembers nothing thence turns on lights
What else-wheres with broken footprints fades
She combs my hair
She combs my hair
She combs my hair
& lets me figure it out on my own
If - Mind of winter, blew coals
But dying ambers often blank to blaze
Forms stars unto forever
Mornings nothing no more grows thru all ye pours
This warm regards to all sorts of pains
O' come in, ye love for thee who is no where
Get up there, trace the light

Reviews

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

A most detailed and inspiring piece, guided and without a structure to beat the reader, well done, good read.

[Robert Robbie Lord Dudley]

Thanx again for your furthered treasured review
Sign'd, not unknown. And, X marks this spot on the map