orgami's Diaryland Diary

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im print Im press

locked me out
so theres nothing to do
but stare at this moon
behind its veil

you are imprints
leaning on the wall
I place my palm
where the cold flesh
of paint has worn

the music is merry
on the broken headphones
and your laugh is a tone

you are nemesis cognizant
like a letter drop

like shock ripples on
the topping of interest
the lull in the hesitancy

the branchs are swollen
with leaves and dark thoughts
secret leavings
like a ryhtymn beat
the bass kit keeping
time

the waves are weaving
words

and a jet plane breaths
across the sky like
frosted mornings soon
to be

I throw yesterday to the
wolves
the happy feasts

1:08 a.m. - 2010-07-28

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