Monday, May 07, 2007

dragon's fusion
spit from drums
echoing down dead streets
and the soul of old pavement

here's where language goes to die

I'd like to be frozen in mid sigh
because the sun leaves ever
stretching shadows and soon
only photons matter
images tumbling
fingertips stumbling

the ceiling weighes down
how I'm in love with the sights of spring
and they fight with the
radio's hum and 2/4 hip sway
how I wish the world could drive
past the shine of brass
the way that steel means whisper burns

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

problem ! I can no longer blog under me, my email stoped! AMY!!!