I killed an inanimate object today
But only in metaphor.
I left a corpse to gather dust there,
To help its fate, I couldn't muster,
To stoop and bend down to the floor.
The vagabond wreck I gave not love,
Not a rattled clink of change of heart.
I didn't read his little card.
I passed him, among the refuse,
Like something in the gutter,
As he drank whiskey from a Starbucks cup.
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Scribblings
ПоэзияWords arranged in a funny order. Poems about my view of reality and how my inner fantasy world colours it with strange tinges. I love discussions about concepts and ideas so please feel free to comment. © 2018 Brian Lynch
