A mostrar mensagens de Maio, 2016

counting down

unnamed urge
of fists of fights of flights
in dreams in sleep that cuts out of me
this blur into white
in nights that merge
into days that merge
into a stream a decreasing
count of

get me


let us hold hands
and cross the border on foot
take a dusty bus to the
next unnamed town

let us be nameless under the sun
strangers to all but each other