“Slick”
Black gold barons fly,
like moths to an orange flame,
to kiss the gold ring.
Steve D
Black gold barons fly,
like moths to an orange flame,
to kiss the gold ring.
Steve D
Combat turtlenecks,
attempt to project power,
yet reveal cowards.
Steve D
What keeps you in place,
reticence? Or do you wait,
for the bell to toll?
Steve D
Tides ebb, the wheel turns,
sand grains wash out and return.
Hold fast the taut line.
Steve D
Footprint sticks in mud
resisting every next step,
stamping down in spite.
Steve D