Yearn
In a room that has no corners
on a bend that sees no lights
like a dripping cave with claws
it's trying to expel something
out of the past — a malignant
forgiveness, an axial flexor
a branch line or terminus-fret
these are forests without trees
seas without shipping bubbles
only a nausea that's like noise
oil sickness, fumes & machinery
you would expel it all willingly
for one night's steady beacon
a pure melody above the drum
sure, but everyone must have it
caveat emptor, diddle-dee-dum
entry was below a bridge this time
its structure looked solid enough.
© 2012 Rob Schackne
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