By Raymond Palma

Poetry By Raymond Palma

A Ray of Hope’ 

The Thirty-First 

Walk with a CRUNCH!
The CRUNCH flies every time you step.
So many colors, what do you mean they’re dead?
How can this be when they’ve formed a body?

The head looks familiar.
The brain is hollow, yet it glows with rage!
Orange, orange, a discriminating fellow.
Strangers approach every hour.
A circus is in town.
Animals don’t look like themselves.
Why do they chant the cliche?

Their stomachs will all be filled.
They’ll all go away.

Raymond Palma

Copyright© 2000 by the International Library of Poetry as a compilation.

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