Ann Marie

My bus weaves a ragged run, tied to a third interregnum, now please leave me alone, don’t pity us poor joes, life didn’t pass a magnum,, a river won’t wash our bones, anyone can pull a con, even just a simulacrum, to find one golden certitude, an even break for those, who sing to life C’mon, but don’t have fancy clothes, they call these oceans God, but dance like poorhouse bums, when they want or slump, it’s for young ones gone, such silence waves forlorn, here I am staying mum, walking down the road..