I grow old ... I grow old ...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I back-comb my hair some more? Do I dare to launch a nuke?
I shall tweet and tweet until my rage simply makes me puke.
I have heard the liars lying, each to each.
I do not think the lies will stick to me.
I have seen myself riding glory-ward on the waves
My glorious mane of hair blown back
When the blast zone turns the world ash black.
I have lingered in the chambers of TV
By stormys wreathed with contracts and with lies
Till human voices wake me, human cries
(
vladimir, Mon 11 Jun 2018, 17:33,
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HSM
Vladimir, out of key with his time,
He strove to regurgitate the dead art
Of /links; to maintain “the sublime”
In the three pubes per bollock sense. Wrong from the start—
(
Prufrock Lucifer, son of the morning!, Mon 11 Jun 2018, 19:29,
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Rodge did it first
The bravery of being out of range
(
pineapplecharm D d M Y, H:i, Tue 12 Jun 2018, 13:01,
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