Tuesday, January 26, 2016

Blue and Cold

The dawn's a corpse, reeking of memory -
blue and cold, it stutters with the crisp leaves,
suicidal at the hands of reverie.

Nothing dies; nothing abandons the yoke -
blue and cold, time leads new discovery -
uncoiling every time the same joke.

And where are we to head for every
road is blue and cold and so old, old, old!
Lost sense is heard a croak, but savoury.

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