Monday, March 16, 2009

Long Way From Home


Dark priest wind
Touch the sentry gate
Gently set the moon
While somewhere else
Pleased freemen listen.

Delivering the sundown into
Dark water caves
Shadow street where
Sellers of moustaches
Carpet the night,
Rising mothers smoking
Meet in good houses
in older, fading clothes
To track the terrible daily
Traffic of the sun.

Instrument of strangeness
A robber travels across the city
To steal a moment
With the trees.

1 comment:

Anita Mendes said...

in this poem I felt like kerouac
going back home.
Your poems have this effect: they cut us to the next word but it doesn`t bleed is almost a strange and good feeling.
see you then.