Tuesday, December 16, 2014

just testin

just to see really
if there's anything still in there
i knock on dead wood

the inner precipice
is far far away
this fine day

a whole new
is come home to stay

but that's ok
this mind is just
a figleaf

an ignorant trick
i would undo it
if i had the art

grime marks the corners
of all my
favourite windows

tiredness fills
the panes
and my veins

the drunken ghost
is gone
here i am left
as empty as air

there is no meaning here today
i am writing from an old palette
everything is grey

the voices
of those big ole booming trees
are lost to me

i can't even feel the way
to my own eulogy