Flicking away in the light
Congealing in the wind
It seemed like
We walked for days
When in reality
It was maybe a few hours
Shutting out the events
From that shooter
At the station
Into loitered memories
Plunged through
Dissonaned bled tunnels
Unclear where we were going
But leaving me feeling
Like I was writing notes
For my own funeral
With each step
I took.
No comments:
Post a Comment