The floor you walk on is smooth. There is no ground there.
|
Magic begins with blood. Outside, there are trees,
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With concrete under their roots. But I have passed the tombs of kings,
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Regaled them with pacing, checked bins for food and wrappings.
|
I have scoured the seas for miles, cloaked my face with ash.
|
My fingertips opening, accepting my time.
|
|
The dark cylinders of half-smoked cigarettes
|
For me, I’m your sorrow
|
Calling in your dreams
|
For me, I’m your shadow
|
Howling in the streets
|
|
Tomorrow, I will walk the streets
|
And steel myself for the familiar. Your eyes
|
Will not settle, a hunger. You’d be happier in your grave.
|
When we meet, share stories, you stretch me. I see,
|
I see a semi-circle of teeth.
|
|
The dark cylinders of half-smoked cigarettes
|
For me, I’m your sorrow
|
Calling in your dreams
|
For me, I’m your shadow
|
Howling in the streets
|
|
-----------------
|
Sweep
|
| Blue Foundation |
