1781
5.319
15.xi.24
in the mechanical
world
not clockwork
that time is over
we called time
you won’t hear it anymore
things seem next to now
but it’s still we push beast to the plough
the ordure is all we can afford
imagine an island, frond fringed
of exile
come paddling the storm to see
it’s where we’re from
it’s where they’re gone
it’s who we have to be
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment.