two in a row
"ceremonial" she whisperedinto the colours of the night
"they don't go lightly"
she hesitated on land of all
a stream a fork
a lay down different
from show offs
knee deep in Winston's best
in times of disarray
"loosely" she continued
"there is murky wood
in the dying we all see as
anything in our time"
night was nothing more
clocks were obsolete
it was quiet
pinned like dead butterflies
on a collector's wall
days tend to wilt and die
before they can centre
around a horse's head at will
or a will not
it is getting late
"we will all be erased
from the whiteboard
of chance in continuity"
she turned her fast heels
and the swiftness
of her skirt lifted day
in brevity enclosing
***
the visions of yesterday
eat you like an apple on the run
all that living on the edge
all madness of that living
sensations of the I will survive
take your eyes to the market
again and again
it is at the close of tidal mourning
slow entrance finds an opening
drawn like a lie on the double
to echoing continuity of old stairs
a knock is just a knock
silence is more than nothing
jag är den krokade masken
ångesten som fyller lugnet
med tillit och falsk vår
it is all no more than a tick tock
in the works of shade and sorrow
the forlorn escaping the whirling
madness at the top of heads
going to work for nothing more
than a pat and a watch
tanks and loss for words
roll over continuity like lead
in days of all is no more
senior reeds tidal days
totality is dormant
ages with wine
Poetry by Bob
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Written on 2015-04-05 at 23:40
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Jamsbo Rockda |
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 by Bob Latest textsI seldom walkthere’s a rumor there will be no full stop so many regrets who am I |
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