Saturday, November 05, 2011

Nightwork


Through the grey mist dry
Nondescript dawn new years day
My shadow wins the dubious honour
Of not having to exist
Outside of my footsteps’ clicki-ti-clack
And the early risers
And overnight drivers
With blood in their eyes
And caffeine in their veins
Surprised by the wonder of their own words
Reflected (as if)
In the malignant morning papers
Via the black pens of the masturbating censors
The gatekeepers of all that is decent and true
And all that leads me back to you
In your warm bed
With the stars all around
And the carpet of leaves
That rustles my approach
To the heart of the day
To the story of my life

2 comments:

Mr. Charleston said...

Nice

Harlequin said...

feels like a train....
the words hold more than the words. you are so good at this.