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michael-sinclairePoems
Come ask me questions of thoughts I’ve forgotten and send me dreaming to a distant road where music is free and tired feet don’t stop dancing when the tap is dry Moon heron blue tide Wandering naked lonely Covered in feathers faster bird flew Where long haired brother smoking soothing sadhu can sit at leisure or stand or lay (or be lain!) Lovers fall off the train Drinking wines on Summer strut Trough graveyards old tombstones White women in dresses With cotton torn old sole rubbed closet rug Shoe stains got gritty in dusty old trunk Her wig bleach bald eyes lacking interest Tired old neck feels like a head on a stool Thespian laughter grouped in the attic They animate slowly in the shape of ‘you’ Ghosts get me closer on hot summer drives Up North to see dams and **** forest rivers In dark we then travel with Kings of old tidings and Queens who lay buried the lamppost their bed Laying so gently the Bishop wife Medley The grass that laid bare of yesterday’s supper The lamppost we take a notion of tender Still a safe haven so deep in my heart The sunset of splendour the primary sunrise they howl their jowls Hysterical laughter
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Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 12:47 AM UTC
Calithumpians on Nightly Voyage (Thespian Laughter)
Come ask me questions of thoughts I’ve forgotten and send me dreaming to a distant road where music is free and tired feet don’t stop dancing when the tap is dry Moon heron blue tide Wandering naked lonely Covered in feathers faster bird flew Where long haired brother smoking soothing sadhu can sit at leisure or stand or lay (or be lain!) Lovers fall off the train Drinking wines on Summer strut Trough graveyards old tombstones White women in dresses With cotton torn old sole rubbed closet rug Shoe stains got gritty in dusty old trunk Her wig bleach bald eyes lacking interest Tired old neck feels like a head on a stool Thespian laughter grouped in the attic They animate slowly in the shape of ‘you’ Ghosts get me closer on hot summer drives Up North to see dams and **** forest rivers In dark we then travel with Kings of old tidings and Queens who lay buried the lamppost their bed Laying so gently the Bishop wife Medley The grass that laid bare of yesterday’s supper The lamppost we take a notion of tender Still a safe haven so deep in my heart The sunset of splendour the primary sunrise they howl their jowls Hysterical laughter
michael-sinclaire
Written by
michael-sinclaire
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 12:47 AM UTC
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