Climb every verse with a stairway of grammar.

Writers clamour
on a verse
sailing on
thoughts above
that take you
somewhere on
a ride to
a place called
kingdom come
that lies over the horizon.

Where the freedom of speech
is as long as a string
and a verse of meaning
cannot be counted
in a circus of words played,
spread over the carnival of pages
where the tombstone of wisdom lies
in the cranial vault.

There’s no grammar
in the desert just flies.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

like the old westerns....the words take the wrong trail and end up carcasses for the buzzards...
and the flies pick at the dead verbs....