This must be the deplacement
Relentlessly sung and quartered
Scratched into compressed sawdust
Left wet to dry into shape
Longed for and shouted against
Dreamt of in verse and line
There are movements so precise and repetitive
That they must be considered art
Or at least a story or sketch
And my life has become that motion
Yet another bird migration
Like the one the year before
And two years ago and three and so and such
I dance for my life
Jerk my body and skitter around
Entertainment feeds me and clothes
So laugh and be happy
It keeps my world existing
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment