Monday, August 27, 2012

Fondly Yours

In the future, we will all shout at machines.

And when we wake up, there will be teeth
in the grass.

Alone, we will spend most of our lives coming to terms
we don't fully understand.

In bed
we reach for those no longer next to us
and wonder
if they remember us at all.

Sentimental memories cling like ticks
and grow fat.

And they give gifts
for the beheadings
of our poisoners.
And prisoners.

Please remember me.



Anonymous said...


Luman said...

Fucking beautiful, m'dear. So precise... sadly enough.