journey.
March 23, 2013 § 4 Comments
utopia: come back through the tunnel and arrive
when the night is backing from parked cars
noisy-le-grand.
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.
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Ciao Animalizard,
Where did your inspiration come from for this poem?
Best June.
It came from driving through a cold city at night trying to find a synogogue, and that very-slight moment in between winter and spring
Inspiration comes from the most unexpected.
Truth!