orgami's Diaryland Diary

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habitual tress

black streets filled with
warm slush
seeps in toe safe leather
street after street
like dirt between sullen
cream brick
and trees like lattice
twist fingers together
peppered with the talk
of solitary birds

these clouds are
somewhere moving
where Ive been
and wont see

they fill the skie
where stars are shinning
hidden with the blue
the true of now
and dreams
lay waiting like
sleeping pack
restless twitch
and nervous tic

hot breath lurid
and short
like a dreaming
locomotive along
lakeshore

polished nickle
hope

2:53 p.m. - 2010-11-27

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