November 2018

text version below

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Waiting at Market Hill

People coming

Going places

Ugly 

Someone selling love 

on a stick

I wait

my turn

to

suck up the word

of the Preacher

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Memento Mori

text version below

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You cannot know the shakes that come 
before the final downfall, the shivers 
that makes you sweat, turning inside 
out without knowing thirst.

You cannot see the bars that trapped me, 
up and down the boulevard of dreams, 
their greetings never stopped, their arms
pulling me down; slowly drowning.

You cannot see the bars that caged me,
in the fields of glory, the bliss and 
unfulfilled desires the wind that made 
the crop circles cry.

You cannot hear the wailing from the 
tears that fell before me, in the darkness
and the hour of the wolf, by the lakeside 
we became, and lost.

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