Chaos of machines
in park built for gentle peace.
blowing awful comedy
across seas of weakened trees.
American Culture, Chaos, Depression, Noise, Poems, Poetry, Tanka
This entry was posted on May 19, 2011, 5:15 am and is filed under Poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through RSS 2.0.
You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
#1 by screen_scribbla on May 19, 2011 - 5:48 am
I think I’d scream my head off. Well written in that I could feel my blood begin to boil in that space.
#2 by Carl on May 20, 2011 - 6:47 pm
Thank you for your comment. Blood boiling is right!
#3 by sixthsymph on May 19, 2011 - 5:52 am
I see and feel what you mean. Love the last line.
#4 by Carl on May 20, 2011 - 6:47 pm
Thank you for your comment. I appreciate it.
Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:
You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Google+ account. ( Log Out / Change )
Connecting to %s
Notify me of new comments via email.
Notify me of new posts via email.
Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.
Join 6,053 other followers
Blog at WordPress.com.