Hush you and hear my
atypical rant
Listen to this pathetic prophet
(a slave to modernity
and shackled to his image)
I've dreamed
things you've never seen
Flowers that grow in the most obscure places
Waking up beside you when the morning is new
Coffee made of sand
and painted lungs turning black
All beginnings and ends
The back of the train
A particular pause when your lips are like songs
Your hair climbing out from under your hat
And green empty eyes
with huge tearless pupils
This can't just be the end
or love is a well-marketed myth
Your absence condemns me
I need your grace
~~~
JB, 2004.
No comments:
Post a Comment