A woman, Violet, creates quit a stir
With her socks, and the mounted
Officer spins about to peep
Why so many pigeons have found salvation.
The sidewalk sighs and the screens
Concentrate, and Violet struts
Through the auto salvage yard.
The officer marries
His body to that of his horse,
And battles chrome for Violet’s hand,
Which is not in that protective strip
Nor over there in that shroud.
I couldn’t understand anything,
Until I picked up her shattered socks,
Which I placed in my pockets.
Among the many objects, a key
Was born. It told of a safe
Which held secret of the world.
So I strode away, determined
To never open it, and never be tempted.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment