2205
7.12
12.i.26
in the night
wake to worry
any least thing does
a thought misplaced
my hat gone where
a door slams
who knows?
round as a pill
I’m the bone to worry
still here in the
night
tell yourself not a
real place
defenceless, yet
survived to here
flocks of and lamb
white hills
snow on the set in
the after hours
how if you looked up
there’s be too much
far
stars, moon stray
one touches
and one wave over
shames waking
where from riches
part
close eyes
and know
no choice but trust
the machine’s apart
know
night comes again
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment.