Haunted City ~ Michael Sowa
In a dream of Sunday
Warm on freckled shoulders
The boy that I once was
Runs like only
He can run in dreams
Weightless in the onshore breeze
That tastes of salted spit
And highway diesel
And leaves him on the homeward path
Away from all that reason
His thoughts are a ploughed field
Seeded with tomorrows mistakes
Warm on freckled shoulders
The boy that I once was
Runs like only
He can run in dreams
Weightless in the onshore breeze
That tastes of salted spit
And highway diesel
And leaves him on the homeward path
Away from all that reason
His thoughts are a ploughed field
Seeded with tomorrows mistakes
6 comments:
nice poem, I love it , tq 4 share :)
I like the pict and the words is really meaningfull
AA: thank you :)
WC: Glad you enjoyed
nice, and also a little depressing
the poem and the visual have that strange connection .... absolutely elusive and present ... simultaneously. amazing how you do this.
Harlequin: I guess the connect has been handed to us by the surrealists and their obsession with dreams ;]
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