Saturday, January 16, 2010


Nobody knows you at the centre of the crowd
Your tattooed fingerprints
The weapons in your head
You can walk through this city an invisible man
Without touching another mind
Behind masks of brittle iron
You carry all your collected dreams autumn blue
In pockets winter deep
Coiled for the spring
And your footsteps scuff flint against incendiary stone
To light the fuse
For summer's expansion


the walking man said...

a bit of pre-summer explosive warmth would not be harmful nor regretted in the northern hemisphere about now.

Mr. Stupid said...

Great post there. Very well written. Loved the picture too...:)
Have a great weekend...:)

Yodood said...

Nobody knows anything at the center of the crows.

Yodood said...

… or crowd. Damned authoritis, anyway.

Pearl said...

... in pockets winter deep.

So you know the winter, too.


Jenny said...

Fine piece of writing! I really like the reference to "iron" and "flint".

The seasons in Sweden are really pronounced, mildy put.

Pisces Iscariot said...

Walking Man: possible a bit premature tho' :)

Mr Stupid:Welcome!

Yodood: You make it look so easy tho' ;D

Pearl:Oh yes!

Jenny: Thank you! I look forward to visiting Sweden one of these years :)

Yodood said...

I too know nothing — far from the crowd much less its center I might add, you're spot on there. ;p

JeffScape said...

F-in' brilliant.

Princess Haiku said...

Excellent, Pisces. Good form.

Harlequin said...

this was beautiful.... the poem and the image had a haunting symmetry for me.... the word : coiled especially
for some reason was quite effective