Thursday, October 27, 2011

Fumes of charcoal smoke
fill the barren
the arid soul
Naked under winter mist
A vast expanse of grass-less land
between love and the love-less

Nothing - A dull something
tip-toes over the Sunday brunches

through library afernoons
and red wine suppers
And cities fade into
green marshlands
And rainy hills breed
Violet flowers

A mirrored room where
they dance and sing
Perfumed women and
their men
and their children
and grandchildren pink
Circles and cubes glittering

Black water gurgles through
open drains. Imagine
what would happen
if I fell
fell deep and vanished

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