Thursday, March 31, 2011

On our way ~ Rupert M Loydell

I am starting to be an old man,
will not get out of here alive.

Something shocking;
no other possibilities.

Techno slowed
to merely a pulse,

an improvised song
within the mid-range

lost between bass
and high notes.

Dry leaves underfoot
and a dog snoring.

The slow turning of pages
and the emptiness of evenings.

Cars in the distance.
A fine sense of utopia.

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