The Stars Are Psanky Egg
The stars are psanky eggs
The rope around the neck of the moon
Is made of clouds
The baby that cries in the night
Is crying for the salvation of man
Yes it is all up to the baby to save us
The night smells of new stainless steel
The cars are rubbing their rubber
Against the asphalt railing that
Captures the dangerously flumes
That chocks the night
I am a walrus wobbling around
In the seascape of my head
Night is caught in an empty bird house
Night is forever being caught in between something
I am a walrus wobbling around
The night that is in a tail spin
The night is forever falling forward
In the fold of my lips grows rubber a rose
Night is full of the sounds of fun
That is forever falling forward
Night is forever calling me
With my rare lips falling forward
Night is forever falling forward full of folly
Found in the left over bits of day
Night is finding its place
Where it can rest against
The street lamps pollution
Night is a fornication
Meant to relieve you of something
Night is sexual
I am a walrus wobbling around
The tale end of night told
Before the break of day.
poem by David E. Patton
Added by Poetry Lover
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