tomorrows-
nothing special once they arrive
another turning day of kettles and diners
tomorrows-
live like cliches in yesterdays daydream
and
slowly
spin
like a great ferris wheel of jet black lozenges
tomorrows-
a now in the pocket/up the sleeve
a dim phantom to oil the gears
painted
faint
with
ill
anticipation
a safe distance away to savour beyond the wall of sleep
tomorrow-
plates of crumbs and eggs and sucked cigarettes
and of course the darkest coffee
watches
for ideas and delicate small words
to
mark
them
and their passing/to mark them/tick them checked
and
force
them
real
No comments:
Post a Comment