Disposable: what do you think about my poem?

ChidingEyes

New member
Cupped small hands could clear a road
Smiles eager, teeth disposed
There’s a curse on this town-
Looked upon
With looming frowns
At mindless clowns who’ve lost their way

Your enemies are turning to you,
Like some glue takes to a sheet
Of music,
Notes; my world complete
Etched and burned with your scorched feet

In sonnet form,
My words comprised
Of trapeze artists
Whizzing by
Spacious words clap hands together
And audibly cry
From high to low, and low to high

These actions of the passerby,
Sniffing down the latest bribe
And ridden down with all the fact
And all the lies
Of acts detached,
Giving clowns some compromise
 
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