February third, two thousand eleven: Smothered silhouettes walk on bridges, Kindling the footprints drawn by waves. Carmine potions shatter next to glass And taint the impeccable pavements Found on nonsensical notions of ours. Sometimes nightmares enjoy playing Tricks on the notes pasted on the skies, Wanting to find the comets that don’t Know how to forget their forged facades. They gaze together at the gilded lights— Why won’t a compass lead me to clarity?

February third, two thousand eleven:

Smothered silhouettes walk on bridges,

Kindling the footprints drawn by waves.

Carmine potions shatter next to glass

And taint the impeccable pavements

Found on nonsensical notions of ours.

Sometimes nightmares enjoy playing

Tricks on the notes pasted on the skies,

Wanting to find the comets that don’t

Know how to forget their forged facades.

They gaze together at the gilded lights—

Why won’t a compass lead me to clarity?

Thursday Feb 2 @ 12:25am
17 notes
tagged as: thoughts. poetry. photography. 365 Amalgams.

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