Today’s song is hushed- 

almost to the point I can’t hear it. 

Morning’s mist throws a veil over my eyes. 

My body is hungry for something 

I’ve not yet imagined. 

Memory and fantasy are a muddled soup. 

I’m aging like a rusty post holding up a circus tent.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Website Powered by

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: