the sounds of winter
float in from the distant past,
when there were… others
the sounds of winter
float in from the distant past,
when there were… others
in autumn silence
what wasn’t comes to new life
and i inhale lies
worn out compressor
a crummy chair and the world’s
last copy of DOS
in the future i
will write meaningful poems
about purple rooms
i can’t afford this
maybe you can, i don’t know —
invite me over?
cigar smoke stale past
gentlemen gathered here to
tell lies and drink well
the stage has been set
a journey through the seasons
one room at a time
all that time skating
forward balance kept leaning
gliding frustration
the tree does not drown,
it drinks it new songs of how
the ocean bears its own