zeros in the long years
somewhere we stepped through them
tires on the roadside
someone flipped a pancake
all surfaces are fried
chaos, pain is general
when they call the flag in
our sky is pink and brown
this pole could be nowhere
our windows are lit squares
motors rage between them
storms approach, moths to flame
they've drawn your name again
be quiet till it rains
you can slither away.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
6-6-6
ReplyDelete