Litkicks Message Board Archive


Posted to Action Poetry

Canned Meat

pushed through on a pavement street
run hard on a silent beat
golden threads pull the arms
mindful, alert alarms

swaying closer to the same old song
learning faster right from wrong
little flowers pose no threat
to the feelings never met

seeing brightness in the day
color faded so they say
catch the train with a grip
they'll be sorry if you slip.