Saturday, 7 January 2012


caught up in the drift,
of the snow, that you had left behind,
when your home is the dust
of the places that you used to hide
with a mouth full of rust,
because you bit your tongue to protect,
 runaway experiments,
now the street fills up with amputee apes,
and blind mice,
remember when you were home,
when the world was small comfort,
and possibility was a dream,
now your home is a chip,
of the place that you used to call,
the number still in your head,
rings dead.
guide-less little runaway,
no light, to beat the night away,
deadlock poker games,
stale mate stake outs,
life of profane love,
hatched and grown,
coup flown and dipped from above,
remember when you were home,
now that your home is dust,
in a dust bowl,
insignificant anonymity,
the motherless child of infinity.

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