Wednesday, February 11, 2009

continuance

(for the droon)

every night I am erased

into memories of grey
cracked and unshaped
always falling away

why do they haunt me?
these ghosts of things
talking incessantly

they say

if I reach through the trees
I will land in the sky
suspended and unalive

unknown and unsafe
this place of
guns bones veils

lightening
corridors
your face

every night I am erased

but every morning
paints back today

(2009)

No comments:

Post a Comment