Wednesday, 31 October 2007

Tonight, she sleeps

Tomorrow
poetry will bleed from trees,
leak from ruins,
ooze from dead earth.

Tomorrow
poetry will reek of spontaneously combusted crows,
smell of yesterday's suicide note,
strike up a conversation with the dead cat.

Tomorrow
poetry will sigh pathetically,
and sweep silence gently away,
along with ellipses of no promise…

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