poet

21 August 2010

21 August 2010

each
with
their
fingers
crossed

each hoping

there are hours
too bright
with day

night
too long

there are mornings
smiled
by journeys

there are obstacles
vanquished
by love

night thunder

night thunder

a soft curtain billows
catchment of air

rainfall

first moist kiss
upon the
window upon the
world

leaves
of the dead poet
Michael
sift in a paperback sieve

I ignite
a nicotine missile

smoke consistently
as a means to death

and

for an illusion of company
a smoke filled room

in my
weird night’s hermitage
I can no longer sleep