The Last Poem It could Be

The Last Poem It could Be

by Charles Robert Hice on Wednesday, August 8, 2012 at 10:36am ·


The Last Poem It could Be

OR

is my fuller brush so stiff

The Fly is as thick as a thief on Sunrise

The belly of my enemy is full of Gin again they drink the stolen funds they stink in this heat they smell like alcholic drama queens they merley act like normal people but they are getting meaner by the drought they bought  the Ballistic mention of the dimensions  of my missive peacock will please my bunder under the moon we rock and eat the breaded rolls the kisses sweeter then the wine she drinks alone eye find the time to write this poem could be the last one ever done on time the nerve of the drunks they make the sun hide itself it is a little behind the cloudy skidding sky the light confusing diffusing into the splintering day time eye dine in the comfort of the air the beauregard  in my hand iff only eye were not in public the strokes of the painting brush your lips my sinful thrusting your edifice trembles like a chicken eating peas for a supper dish lost in the time it must take them to serve the diner closed. Sitting in high cotton smelling like a rose. Working my soft repose to a milky way response a knee jerking dance of love. Making mention of you in my last will and testament eye suppose you will be the one to keep my love you always had it and you will never lose it after all is said and done the things we thought were life but they were nought they were not life they did not last they went away a poem within a poem

Anchient Child

old man full of days bearded wisdom seen above

child of grace full of life yet slain

immortal sacrifice

clay vessels needing love

we should be ashamed that god

needed to prove to us his love

Jesus this is The Last Poem It could Be


to thine own self be true