A Cold Bee With A Ray Gun

Poem By Jonathan Colby

Dawns creeping fingers
harbours harbingers
of a prompt indecision,
in insincere derision,
betwixt beletristic intentions
and euphonious suspicions
Mayhaps, an adventure!
A certain numismatic blur
Shall (indeed!) proceed inside
the confines of solar goodbye/hi
Perhaps a purport of personal engineering,
finds a soft tomorrow remaindering,
leaving, not mourned nor bereaved,
space for Us in a natal eve

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