March 23, 2013 § 4 Comments

utopia: come back through the tunnel and arrive

when the night is backing from parked cars


seldom come they singing without mouths

moving in time to the stars and the last

sentenced to upheaving cobbles; fall ye.

Utrechtenaar give me a way to say ‘buried’ without the end

leave it to the mythmaker, Sabba, go now

to white women dancing away the nightflies in an anaemic haze

leave it to the halfway in translation

and behold, our roots are

grounding. the roots are grounding.

§ 4 Responses to journey.

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