Brat Poem by Stephen S. Yeandle
Brat
Beckoning green
bedroom call.
A silent stipulate
for undress.
Soon your
howling at the moon.
Animal testimony
rips the night as
clouds blow by the moon.
No longer here nor there;
life suspended briefly static,
explosively returns.
Pow!
You don’t stand a chance.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
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4/20/2024 2:09:24 AM # 1.0.0.1119
