Future Wash
I quivering quiet voice
crawling through your mind
I quilt quiet voice
crawling creeping midnight mind.
Crawling treacle trash empty
intermittent spaces reeking rime
unease as frost front echoes
empty bubbling boiling brine.
Turbulent night echoes echoes
echoes answer echo endless.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Added by Poetry Lover
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