Silent as an empty bird
cage on the moon.
can we whistle this
shall die as poor as,
~
Nostalgia. yr. paper fingers
shiny all night,
with painkillers at earlobes
they have this peculiar dance
~
stood on the wall looked out at the snow
as it falls through houses and gets into your name
whatever we say they say it back to us
until we are disappearing.
No comments:
Post a Comment