Hot as a boiling over rad,
Or surface of a slip clutch pad.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Some Sharpened Luck
An antler shed
Jammed in my tread;
Some sharpened luck.
I wish that buck
Had kept instead
His pointy bits upon his head.
Tine beats rubber, that is that
And runs the rubber round to flat.
I stop despite engine insistence,
Fall to Cervidae resistance.
The weapon of the deer-buck lingers,
Hides in the straw to strike with bony fingers.
Jammed in my tread;
Some sharpened luck.
I wish that buck
Had kept instead
His pointy bits upon his head.
Tine beats rubber, that is that
And runs the rubber round to flat.
I stop despite engine insistence,
Fall to Cervidae resistance.
The weapon of the deer-buck lingers,
Hides in the straw to strike with bony fingers.
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