Bizarre Boogie Winding in Yore

Miles away the ticks of the way
Miles before they hitch a hick
In cribs the crook’s foray
The time the clock ticks

After the jab hit
the rig rags off the riff-raff.

To gritty grill the nit-wit ring
the girl weds beast to best
A jeopardy in kiln tempts
And the killer is a waste of breath

The raise awry awhile in the dogged fog
The jester gigs, the jest wiggles
Former leads with utter plied pied-play
Lifts the lever; fits to rigged red riddle

All done and deed set
The lark’s alarm goes the end
After jumping bridge to humping a kiss
The bride finds rest on a blue ridge

Blurring the bleed off colours
A slur shuts the dread
The door slams against the farce
The rammed ripes a trope, no trace

Helm to hedge, a metre off far
The whirl wools a wig
The troll tugs a twat
Before the four feet find bubble-babble

The forgotten fear keen to grind
The ruse to rest set in fur; further away the mist usurps

 

© Prateek Joshi and WordPress, 2017

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