Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Pocket, Pocket

Tell me what brought you here
Irresistible wind
But not me, not me

A narrow escape
A mix-tape of early mistakes
Went back to her place
only in dream, in dream

What swelled to guard what I had started?
What swiftly swept away?

We're in its stead
We nod our heads
Snatched from the fire
I lit in my pocket, pocket

Convinced and cut
Drug through the muck
Into your lungs
then to be sung, to be sung

LAN lines and family
Your flawed faximole
You didn't know what you were meant to be

What swelled to guard what I had started?
What swiftly swept away?

We're in its stead
We nod our heads
Snatched from the fire
You lit in your pocket, pocket


copyright 2012 Tom Moore

No comments:

Post a Comment