automatic writing / overheard things

city rising moved in cycles from ruin & rubble to mirrored glass piercing clouds from down here the greatest days of my life,
beautiful nephew,
10,000 civilians mingling,
headphones in cavities,
white pebbles,
looking at feet,
marching on

there can be pockets of silence here

new photos will become
old photos

stale like mouldy bread
feed to sleek ducks
next to canal boats
cramped living
spaces confined
on the tide



Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s