Spring runs wild with sneezing and coughs. Return moderation. My friend.
The crisp of Fall.
Angels who walk me past,
and show the sights,
but never ask.
Don’t let this pass –
this trail of hot
I will tell and let you know –
just how it feels.
Even sliding and hurting
upside down, I’ll beg
the prayer for
slow me down.
at my malady
and hold the
trip wires taut.
Some perverted and
few line up and cough, cough, cough –
eat the scrapes.
Hold me hard
dear flutter flies.
Just hold me.
2012 Barry Comer – Illustration 2015
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