Poems given to me while spillin' tea on my keyboard, often get dropped here for the benefit of humanity and my own hubris.
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The days go marching into the sunset
At a break-neck, dizzying speed
While each doldrum step is done by
A clumsy marionette in slow motion.
When did I presume that I moved the strings?
Or are the strings set in motion on their own
By choices made years ago with foggy eyes?
But being hooked by these herky-jerky issues
Doesn't slow down this march into the sunset.
Thought originally posted on Thursday, 24 April 2003
© 2003-2005, Howard Abrams • Except where otherwise noted, all original content is licensed under a Creative Commons License (see details).
© 2003-2005, Howard Abrams • Except where otherwise noted, all original content is licensed under a Creative Commons License (see details).
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