Missing in Action
As pruience cuts me both ways
So prudence cautions in the proof.
Distant sterile words don't speak,
A brush of shadow whispers grief
And unrelenting sorrows twist
murky pudding stews, is mi-
Still life also dwells midst
Twists in the mixt. I write the score.
I am the spin doctor. Am I
Where do we go round? The balloons
Are beyond my grasp. Menace lurks,
Lace decimates her face. Or joy
Goes round. The curve of my mind loops
Back. Balloons. They didn't know how
To say. Get yourself a Hallmark!