Standing at the foothills of symmetry
you see
a pair of shoes, walking,
with a man inside them.
And in your closet
The dark ages
pile up.
At times you stop
to scratch your posterior and posterity
And then you start climbing the mountain once again….
Meanwhile,
In your closet
The dark ages
Keep piling up
A little rainbow must greet you
That’s what they teach you in schools and aquariums
And then you reach the summit
to realize that
in your closet
the dark ages
have piled up…..
But by that time you’ve already lost your little violin
3 comments:
After looking for some real, intoxicating poetry since all of those poet ghosts of my youth are dead, I just found you. Don't lose that 'soul' of your words that makes me go for another cigarette even at this hour of night when mercury is falling faster than dignity of human. Kudos
After looking for some real, intoxicating poetry since all those poet-ghosts of my youth are dead, I just found you. Don't lose that 'soul' that makes me go for another cigarette even at this hour of night when mercury is falling faster than dignity of human. Kudos
getting in touch with your baser instincts eh???(literally)
Post a Comment