Wednesday, April 12, 2017

NaPoWriMo, Day Twelve, Poem Twelve

Rave in B Minor

I pray for
several deaths
every day,

coward forgetting
how to run
or call in sick.

Whatever keeps
losers loose-limbed
and moving

must never
be bottled
only burned.

Great journey
forced march
only difference

Latin teacher's
inflection, holding
crack-whip accent.

sole solace
limp arms
welcome TKO.

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