Transition
Mermaids have been beaching themselves.
Sirens litter the coastlines of this continent.
They say no man is an island.
Too many night shifts have turned him into a vampire.
She measures years in terms of Christmases.
Their children dance like shadows at a fire.
I’ve got a love letter in my back pack, making me feel like a suicide bomber.
It’s a plane ticket in the pocket of a nervous hijacker.
Back-channel literature written on whole wheat papyrus, a list of ingredients for a dinner.
Beneath the altar, beneath the chalk sigils, beneath the cold wet stones of the cellar.
Beneath the damp, cold earth herself. These are the promises.
Hope is a seed that’s putting out slow roots beneath the cathedral.
One deep breath, two bad jokes, three in the morning.
Breakfast with sentences joining sentences over orange juice.
Suddenly, it’s Saturday.
tags
Sirens litter the coastlines of this continent.
They say no man is an island.
Too many night shifts have turned him into a vampire.
She measures years in terms of Christmases.
Their children dance like shadows at a fire.
I’ve got a love letter in my back pack, making me feel like a suicide bomber.
It’s a plane ticket in the pocket of a nervous hijacker.
Back-channel literature written on whole wheat papyrus, a list of ingredients for a dinner.
Beneath the altar, beneath the chalk sigils, beneath the cold wet stones of the cellar.
Beneath the damp, cold earth herself. These are the promises.
Hope is a seed that’s putting out slow roots beneath the cathedral.
One deep breath, two bad jokes, three in the morning.
Breakfast with sentences joining sentences over orange juice.
Suddenly, it’s Saturday.
tags