Sunday, November 4, 2018

The Call of the Child

And I was plenty wild.
The black and white future looked like a turned off TV set.

All alone, nerves on the bone, a silent black telephone.

But one night, through the gummy venetian blinds
the boring brick apartment buildings, past all the time zones
up into the snow and moon-scented green pine forest
something finally showed up, shook and boldly shone.

Then ... 

[Oh fuck this poem and give me that phone,
I still want to get out of there!]

No comments:

Post a Comment