The harness wears out, and thin.
The harness bells are all a-shake.
Be sin as scarlet, still a sin.
Be life a lose, it's still a take.
There is no grammar to the mind.
You're free to roam, you flee from Rome.
It's slavery of a different kind.
It's slavery to a future home.
The harness goes a little way,
enough to squeeze into the hole
another phrase, another say,
another future-burning coal.
You gather round to dance the fire
dance, the dead-head dance.
You wear his harness like a briar
headband, what a lucky chance.
There is no sense in bowing out.
We're all crossed up, the essay's rot.
What evidence is there to doubt
the ET nature of the knot?
The bare Mr Bodkin speaks,
he wants to win quietus polls.
He would, I guess. What easy leaks.
This body wants another soul.
2016
Another soul
© Copyright: Андрей Тюков, 2016
Свидетельство о публикации №216052901075
Свидетельство о публикации №216052901075
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