we fall and are here we fall from heavens to this flat stone we live on here we build hells from bricks and nothing just another emptiness to cocoon us in the sun is a waiting finger tapping the rapt window i heard. it illumines a waiting world that is absurd and does not care. but at least it's there at least it's almost real
Poetry by David McLean
March 21, 2008 · Leave a Comment
Categories: Uncategorized
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