right hand pointing

   

 

 
  Tom Gribble

Glossing over the Central Enigma



Every corner emptied into midmorning’s streets

A man tripped over the sleepers in his mind

Eternity now and yesterday hung itself on novelty 

Cold locked his hands in their own echoes

Stormy-eyed people begged to go home

Marbled headed locust crawled out of its ass…

oh, baby, we got troubles

 

 

 




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