They race and roam about
They bark and piss and shout
No one cuts them with plastic
But their eyes are torn and drastic
Loosen the collar
Hear the whistles holler
Fresh blood
Pesky mud
Four leafs per clover
Don’t worry it’ll scab over
Flickr Photos
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I listen, content
Still my mind is bent
He stands on a chair
like the hairs on my arm, an alarm
yet somehow casually I awake
and go on with my day
Normalcy, the enemy
Or to be embraced?
very nice! I’d like more people to follow your trend, and we can begin a community of poetry here.