Thursday, December 10, 2015

From the Notebook of J Michel

Kosciusko Street

On the train.
Early morning –
I am resentful of
a separation from nascent dreams.
Where your voice caresses the
remnants of
desert from my skin.
Your hands
soothe the reminders of bondage
from my limbs.

From the window of my train
I can see the remnants of other’s
lives where curtains part.
lying on          tables,
hiding        in   corners
ignorance hopes to be bliss.

Are these trophies of
the simple fragments of distress?

The train speeds on toward.
The day that God made –
the day I do not want.

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