Clean Cut
The bell turns in its tune
With the pitch of the storm
With the rankle of clipping ice sheets in the sound
Honing the belt of matching island marbles
On the edge of the mottled coast
Of the listing scores of the ocean streets
The wildflowers clap together in the blast
Over the bluff in a tower of a washed-out screen
As the tide dozes in the track market
With its pillow of leaning products
Breaching the nature out of the beached landscape
And dowering the bank to corruption
With the pitch of the storm
With the rankle of clipping ice sheets in the sound
Honing the belt of matching island marbles
On the edge of the mottled coast
Of the listing scores of the ocean streets
The wildflowers clap together in the blast
Over the bluff in a tower of a washed-out screen
As the tide dozes in the track market
With its pillow of leaning products
Breaching the nature out of the beached landscape
And dowering the bank to corruption
This Poems Story
This poem is about the pain that nature feels.
Public Collections Containing This Poem
Other Poems By This Author
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Clear Plastic
PoetJoane Trojansek
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Historical Items
PoetJoane Trojansek
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