All Over

You can’t shoot it you can’t shoot
A thing like that something that
Should have died in my youth a
Charged object of lost innocence
Reflection absorption refraction the
Rustic belle who led me into the woods
With a strange rude tenderness invested
With the light of another world
Untrammeled by the limits of space
And time jarring crazily and yawing
All over

About ubu507

memory documentation and manipulation
This entry was posted in art, Poetry, Poetry and Art and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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