Brittle birds fluttering madly,
In the warm seasons of
Pneumatic women in
Great golden Greek orgies,
Practicing insane orgasms,
Fleeing to the far shores
Death good ruse,
Death sweet lover,
Death reached her thigh,
And commanded her
In her cool rise.
I have fallen for these fat,
Slow feasts of America.
Above the morning,
Grows a flower,
Cultivated in the sweat,
Seeping from the
Of wet angels,
From their period.
Cold clouded misery,
Burlesque TV hour,
24 times a day times to please me.
Supple, warm teenagers
Hot in their velvet beds;
Escape the death of the
Innocence by giving birth
To death and romance.
Death dear friend,
Death and death enough,
I want to die again tonight,
Before a new life,
When I wake up.
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Comments about this poem (Roses by Ethan Moyer )
- Lack of money does not mean lack of wisdom, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- On The T.V., Hannah Bryson Price
- Why do need wisdom anytime?, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- it is almost poetry, Mandolyn ...
- Wisdom's great aim, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- Our world is without any kind of wisdom, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- Dream packed drama, hasmukh amathalal
- A fool واحد احمق, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- Quite same, hasmukh amathalal
- Lack of wisdom, MOHAMMAD SKATI
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