The National

Oh fuck,
oaken baritone, punctuated
by guitars, the swirling mixture
of four horsemen on their horses,
riding after Sunset
into our mouths, but
ears slurp up
as hungrily the sounds
of the gods departed, parting
with us. 
What a legacy.
What a purposeful
rise of the floor,
off the floor, decaying corpse
lifted off its ass to sing again. 

 

10/07/2016
North Vancouver
after Graceless

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Endless Writer © Ata Zargarof 2018

atazargarof@gmail.com

BC, Canada