On Writing

Poem 10 – Remnants of my Saturday Morning Dream

Remnants of my Saturday Morning Dream The old victorian houseis perfectly ricketycontent in the stateof itself shifted andunevened over time In the streets around herpanic – human mayhemworse than termites in woodor bees behind a wallyet the same in theirbuzzing destructionto exist In the sky – translucentblack orbs floating toconcrete and mudthe stepping out ofholograms… Continue reading Poem 10 – Remnants of my Saturday Morning Dream