Hackpoems

A clock full of ones, not a moment in time
will take us too soon to this moment we'll rhyme
step on the steep, yet stop on the stoop
the bird caged sings while sharing his loot

A six aimed for seven, eight miles high
walk round a frame, in the name of siamese lines
the cannon full of lies, will be ready to aim
such fault of victims are only to blame

a frame made of patterns, a fever of trust
this half drawn image, such drains will rust
Lost in in dialogue, blown to the floor
running in circles
this man will endure...