Season 2
Sharing dirty cigarettes
on a sun-stained afternoon
in a techni-color room
desert,
maybe in Arizona?
One of those days you write to a friend about
detailing the gaudy way the sun
imposes his will.
And write, keep writing
to the friends
that sit in their hollow
homes and melt.
Write to keep them away.
The wind blows, and you snap out of your
cloud-filled daydream
but you still feel lost.
One of these days
this room is going to be gone.
And you'll still be lost.
Making
your way
to another
dingy
techni-color tomb.
No comments:
Post a Comment