Tuesday, 7 April 2009

Infection

In the realm of collapsed distances
We crawled through a thousand caves
In an eglatine atlas of trees

Reality is your dust drying on a line
Your face open to an amazing horror
Stranded in the vast pitch of your body

The night falls on daffodils
Steps, futile shrieks in the world of elevators
Redundant as their heads are

Natural to think how great
Spread on a slice of consciousness
Roof tiles balleting in the meadow grass