my Sunday is drenched in lemonade
and all you can do is stalk the same jewel
like a suspicious crow
I choose you to scale our voices
to survey our nostalgias
since sound has ripened our acrylic existence
someone is thinking
I am
therefore
I am
at the seat of stopping
behind my eyelids
between the essence of antimatter
and the freedom of keeping them shut
while all the sand leaks from my gut
planting a beach somewhere
I spend the rest of the week hunting
for forgotten metals in the precious glass
finding that light is forever even as we sink
to ships that lost their purpose
and the bric a brac mosaics shifting every surface
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment