Wednesday, October 14, 2009

almost titled

theres a place beyond poetry underneath the bed, and i know these fields. the voices in the attic and the voices in the sink are closer than ever, longer than todays sunset hours ago, but i know these fields. theres a symbol for my pain, some reasons why i cannot move further than ahead, faster than the sorrow but i know these fields. theres a mormon in a little funny trunk theres a human right beside him the trunk flies across the tiny rivulet and lands with a thud, like a solemn piece of thrown up food, and i know these fields. theres a blood wound and a mortal sheath and together they try to be complete, they turn around and they mix into a coquelicot ribbon with a bow and I know these fields. theres just one runner and they're all trying to catch up before they shut up and die and you'd hope the runner goes first but lifes a dicey little game, and I know these fields. the walls of jericho they fell into rubble and it took lesser time than the falling and forever they stayed and I know these fields. i cannot stop and start and stop i cannot just go on, i am a little rodeo clown with big painted hands, many hidden tears and one long sip of forget me not today, and i know these fields.


  1. What always mattered was the final taste that I get from your compositions..meanings otherwise, tend to go above my head.
    Why are you always so sad??
    We bloggers love you alot, reason enuf to be happy, dont you think?

  2. Thanks Diwakar, I am sad, I am also happy, dunno maybe my writing makes you sad for some reason :(

  3. Hellow Arse/Je Suis, Always a pleasure to hear from you, thanks :)!