, , , ,

Rub it in or the wrong way,

You’ll get a rise out of the type machine clicking away,

Pick up the tab for a friend or one day,

Let it slide inside your pocket.


Search me, not in everything I have a say,

Just get it off your chest, don’t lose your cool, I know it’s gibberish making words like an absurd play,

( I’ll line them up, they’ll serve their purpose,

Couldn’t think of a paragraph, so put them all, more or less,

I admit, it’s a mess! )

But they aren’t stray,

This is just another sort of display.

Zohre Baghban


This context is under copyright.