Time strapped on the deck
made a fungus for my dreams,
we recorded our tapes
over and over
to drown the closeness
into muffled fantasia,
we watched the rivers like
baby fingers grow and grow
as the rank sun cascaded
the solemn repetition
of the roof tiles
and all the antennas
cried and cried
and all the neighborhood cliff faces
ran with raw ink
pipe-strained leakage of artificial snow
as the glass dome grows.
No comments:
Post a Comment