Poem of the Day — Made of cans

Made of cans

Border guards spruce up for telly tubby horror show

Grow to hate the entrenched martyr, I got to succeed in whatever, mentality

A sewer, newer in the spotlight and wearing sparkly lipstick

A trick of the light

In spite of professional foreplay

Stay and drill the home-guard parenthesis

A yard is full of half plucked chickens

Sickened to see their wings fried for take away boxes

Intoxicated by sickly additions

Finger licking seconds

Mends the tired adrenal pumping man

Sand between the toes, in baby grows,

Spreading a trivial pursuit

Loot the marginal constituencies

For an easy life

In a black truck suit zipped up from the back

With bombs in the chest plate

Too late for arguments

Far to green to feather the grass root tribal reactions

Sanctions the only option

For the meantime

The time to be mean

I mean
Copyright Patrick Turner-Lee 12th October 2015

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