That would be the sound of no one still reading this blog. So sad. Many things get put on the back burner of life - blogging happens to be one of them for me. I still blog in my head - too bad no one ever hears it!
Nothing, But you More !
I get frightened during the evening
since that is the point at which the phantoms turn out.
Cabinets squeak and canals moan,
so I sit here under this new top,
where music dribbles into my open ears like wine through dry lips,
what's more the draperies shroud a world that provides for me goosebumps.
The most recent year has made mountains and shaped foothills,
each one foot of rise a knock in a lengthy, difficult experience:
the sort that is brought me crosswise over state lines and wide frameworks
in any case debilitated by entropy and exoskeletons
what's more I have to rest.
I used to not rest so soundly.
So I'd wash dishes,
listen to pitiful tunes from southern lookers,
searching for solace in green fruit dish cleanser
also discovering only my appearance,
the flicker of my own eyes
got in newly cleaned mixed drink glasses
also my vicinity just felt in tapped toes.
Regardless I don't rest so soundly,
in spite of the fact that its diverse,
if a bit:
in the other room,
In any case I hear songs and still get goosebumps,
be that as it may now the tune the way you wheeze when you go bunk past midnight
also my body feels so broken of late,
wheezes and sniffles, hacks and grumblings
feeling disabled on sunny days and sepulchre bound on stormy ones
a few days
I don't feel especially qualified to face the sun, in addition to the day
yet then I'll wash a glass and see your lip prints on it
at that point recollect that they additionally lay imperceptibly on my cheek,
what's more I need to climb like the moon and seize the world
so I can lay it at your feet.
yet until then,
I'm going to toss words on pages,
beg quietly for the soundness of your slumber,
also spare all of you of my strips of ribbon.