Jut got in:
We were more or less accomplices
Old men reading newspapers
But she came to me, whispering, sucking, when she chose
Your gesture is appreciated
It is a trim accountancy
The air is poison
Hear careless children in the schoolyard, dancing on bones
It is kind of you to come
I loved my lover and I tried to love my wife
You drag out your days on your knees
Soup
I remember once, a nurse, not of my country
A face that called me deep, and echoing
The daily struggle ends in whispers
From what we have gathered we are not alone
A sadness waits here, like a tick in grass
Frankly, it would be nice to pause a while and take a drink
See death fly by confused
She loved a man who said he was a singer
They are all holier than I
What I believe is like a light across the moor
I stumble forward but the ground is treacherous
Every city has its ghetto
Of childhood, most, I remember fears
My name is Elias Jones, I have been dead these weeks
No comments:
Post a Comment