Sunday, April 22, 2007

For More Than Forty Years

Drowned by music/a lyric of line thrown to the man
reaching for the reef/rhythm in each heartbeat
idling on King Street/sun stretching across the kitchen
as a feline form/supine verbs scratching at
each attacking memory/you emaciated and walking
to a point which will exist/and we all saying/saying
the situation which exists is/memory, memory, memory
and I print the past/we can view it in amber
for a while/although footsteps on a beach with waves
playing the drums as so transient/a man stepping
off a slow night freight train/staring around before
embarking again/sunlight on a forgotten pen.


Anonymous said...

woah "i print the past"
already found two lines i'd steal from you. why not leave your poems on the board? damn ppl make me come looking for you!



hwf said...

Again, Lynze,

I don't want to post as much as I write. It just seems intrusive to me. I have this place to puddle around in, this stream of pictures and words.