March 4, 2012
#20 Travel (1)
There can’t be wishes as we are
left with no swans and the meadow we
dreamt of was not lush, was not green.
Dead foetus, dead skin, I can’t tell you
what I saw. I unspoke the knives between
my teeth and your wounds were healing,
as if the morning sun had touched you deep.
Thirst, I don’t bother, I know it is eternal,
shadows I’m afraid of. Seasons have always
been dry and winds declared burial before I was born.
Trumpets, they blow my ear and into the
eventual emptiness I travel.
left with no swans and the meadow we
dreamt of was not lush, was not green.
Dead foetus, dead skin, I can’t tell you
what I saw. I unspoke the knives between
my teeth and your wounds were healing,
as if the morning sun had touched you deep.
Thirst, I don’t bother, I know it is eternal,
shadows I’m afraid of. Seasons have always
been dry and winds declared burial before I was born.
Trumpets, they blow my ear and into the
eventual emptiness I travel.
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