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A Poem: Bolt 

Here comes the disconnect
the disappearing act
the exodus from high society.

Don’t adjust your tv set
your Faustian pact
your own shortcomings & fallacies.

Here comes the rollercoaster drop
the stop after the start
the slow fadeout after the credits.

You may hear a slight pop
an upset in the apple cart
a desire to pay penance.

There goes the wild times
the salad days
the wicked ways.

A slight wind through the chimes
a fickle phase
another manic maze.

That’s it for the dilettante
the pompous fonts
& posturing taunts.

This is it for the slow reveal
the words that heal
the Catherine Wheel
the peal
of thunder

mere moments before

Speaking of...

  • A poem by Tom Waters.


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