Idle Thoughts

Swim around in my head

Like it would in my bed

But more like a pool instead

And a prisoner who fled

As though they might behead

There is no red

He’s not yet dead.


Is this our daily bread?

Just a meager shred

With the consistency of lead

Unless it be our homestead

Hanging by a single thread

From a thoroughbred

Or something more widespread

Is that what she said?



I was misled.

The End

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