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Destination
poetry [ ]

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by [bursucel ]

2005-07-03  |     | 



Hail this morning
I said to myself not to it
this rain is only a suspended frame
heavily hanging as in my dream
like that piece of the corpse of a suicidal
caught in electrical wires
we were all mourning and crying
and paying tribute on tv shows
he was a good man he just wanted to die

and then a sudden search for small treasures
vintage portraits in the neighbour’s house
‘You can not take them, they’re
not your memories’
I kept staring
at that girl’s picture
not minding the writing on it, a prize or something
there was also an old clock
dusty, not ticking I wish it was mine
‘steal it before the owner wakes up’
but couldn’t

our aimless trip continued, we were just
sharing the same bread
the same morning
even the same linear music

now open your eyes

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