01 March 2007


Driving, to work, every, day. Standing, looking left, looking right like the rules of the road state. Why feel so alone? The empire is calling. Yellow yellow was her hair, orange sunburst red glare. After time with you I've come to realise I'm not the nicest guy, but I give-give-give, to you, dear. You know my thoughts, you put them there. What will you do? Who do you turn to? You wonder how hot it could get, but I've already felt it. Did you kill the less as I was giving my second guess? The things I saw I saw inside, healed my eye. Green is the colour of the ground, the icy grey was the stare. He closes up his fists and can see as if his demons exist. Open up that box. The prophets of today, discarded, along with the poems and the agents of political campaigns. You came in alone, will you leave on your own?


Blogger c&d said...

BD what is this piece about? I found it to be very metaphorical but I can't find what made you write such an exercise.

Blogger Dan said...

I have no idea what you are talking about either way over my head. Sorry, I'm sure that is very unrewarding but you have to give us the back story!


Post a Comment