You listen with a mental clipboard
Not writing prescriptions
For my ego may be too fragile.
Our future a shattered vase
It’s shards having ripped open my hands
Bleeding puddles
Running into the sewer
Assimilating with the underworld
Where all of this belongs anyway.
You continue to listen.
At what point will you recognize
What slow blood red death sounds like?
© 2003 Dan Kasten
No comments:
Post a Comment