Vintage Clone
honing to be in the top and
wanting to come
in a zigzag
rouged road, thou it looks like
pocket in just a dusty
faded vintage cloths
seems like astral blue came mixed with
bubble sky, shifting moment of rare
nod, as strangers say, dine
in my pocket and eat my beautiful cloths
I love it; failure conquer my lust,
melted my shoulders, it dries
and fall to the
Ground and ready to eat my dust
well wisher suddenly call
without occasion, lifted my hour
into a vagabond crook with
glittering shoes of lighted sky
Oh! I am tiring of pretending
I have to lie...
poem by Antonio Liao
Added by Poetry Lover
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