Rectangles with souls.

Windows lined like soldiers.

Sounds in the head.  Fog rises

but never into a storm.  Dogs

walking as if they know where they’re going.

Fast steps lead to a corner bar where

No one’s ship comes in; liquid languages

spoken here.


Everything appears in slow motion.

It’s easier to remember when dreaming

in black and white.


Each town is a jungle.  Roars and rabble

run from the alleys.


Back to the wind.  Fair weather somewhere

up ahead.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your 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