Dream Song 312

A Poem by anon ymous

I rely on words from the dead, waste my breath on a mirage; walk to the falls, wait for the sun to mist. I’m drawn to water; a common fetish of a melancholy man. Someone plays violin [Brahms, Schoenberg?] keeps a cat on a leash. This isn’t me under this bridge [it’s my good side] wishing on a ghost, hot cup of coffee [black] and a last chance. I am mechanical, thin; birds circle, a dog barks and there I am [again]: in a king bed, blinds drawn, an unexpected rain; the wet shell of another day blows to pieces.

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