through the mirror a light-forsaken world
in a used leather jacket, the packed scent of cigarette
exacts itself in the calendar,
hung on the wall it discloses a shadow compressing
an answer as in
where once to feel gliding into the air a figure on the ground
is song of color – that it is the truest manuscript
whenever I yield into
the inseparable gesture of foolishness as entering
a scene and coming
back only to be an uninterrupted furniture fixed in the finest day.
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 9:44 AM UTC
through the mirror a light-forsaken world
in a used leather jacket, the packed scent of cigarette
exacts itself in the calendar,
hung on the wall it discloses a shadow compressing
an answer as in
where once to feel gliding into the air a figure on the ground
is song of color – that it is the truest manuscript
whenever I yield into
the inseparable gesture of foolishness as entering
a scene and coming
back only to be an uninterrupted furniture fixed in the finest day.
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