Desperate attempts to sink the unsinkable

Post-summer confession
Days without words
Still full of expression
The chair still rocks
And cigar still pulls
Sky spitting same old
Thundering the earth’s pulse

Settee dusty
Soles of four feet
Step lightly, flirting
With muscles new and old
Grown as far as they could
From the thought
Of being cold
Earth so clean
Mouths so dirty
Wind, water, fire

Small lakes
Make cloud-like shapes
And wash away the distant birthing
Of a myth
Where to get the message
Was a risk
So steep
That the tides
Could drift

Three out of four
Numbers, smells
Fallen between cars
Sober silence
Between bars
They proved it
It has all been
A farce


Energy is

You know
How they use it

The symbols
Get parsed



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s