Monday, April 11, 2016

NaPoWriMo, Day Eleven, Poem Ten



Con Fess

Running low
surface sketch

Even attorney can't
tell what you don't
already know.

Flakes frustrate
shake well often
rinse through.

Disciples know
when detached.

Can no longer
fake it till
they make it real.

They troll for you
to trawl your own soil
anything fertile.

They sit by bed
ready to bury.

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