A sea food buffet.
A fling in the hay.
Solarte... in May.
A song out of tune.
Street crime in Rangoon.
A nightmare swoon.
Solarte... in June.
A routine pop fly.
A darkening sky.
A long, anguished sigh.
Solarte... July?
Solarte... good-bye.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Solarte: The Poem
A sea food buffet.
A fling in the hay.
Solarte... in May.
A song out of tune.
Street crime in Rangoon.
A nightmare swoon.
Solarte... in June.
A routine pop fly.
A darkening sky.
A long, anguished sigh.
Solarte... July?
Solarte... good-bye.
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3 comments:
Our machine has cog rust,
And is coated with frog pus,
Solarte was a dog just,
Like the Yankees in August.
[written from an iPhone on a Prague bus.]
Sooo - lar - tay
Uh Ohhhh
Sooo- lar -tay,
No, no, no, no, no
Shane Spencer
K. Mass;
Ron the Boomer,
No, no, no Mas!
Hands of stone;
Bat of Glass;
Oh fuck it;
Bring back K. Maas.
So lar tay
Uh Ohhh
So lar tay
No, no, no, no, no
Soft! What light bat through Yangervis's closing window breaks?
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