by Tim Chiu
Sometimes, a nut - sometimes, a calculated angel - a prose poem.
|A vacant, silly, and jaw-dropping antidote.
A courtesy of the bunkers
In which the golf ball remains
Hit behind it, simply downward -
And exhibit finesse,
And blast away at the subsequent mantra.
Seeking a perilous tide
For the most scenic reverberations,
Casting aside the sadistic warring
Of the weeks ahead.
As the most gorgeous gains
Become an engendered shredding,
Designed for an entangled feat -
Fouled off augustly
By a beloved, draggled cup…