03 August 2010

she sang
my heart on fire
rumours of murder drowned out by
our footsteps metronome on the pavement
to bathurst
admist conversations of the muse

and really she hasn't gone anywhere
except to rest from 300,000 meals
she's prepared

hot feasts
at

4 comments:

  1. c-dogAugust 4, 2010 at 7:19 a.m.

    Awesome.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Lorne RobertsAugust 4, 2010 at 1:54 p.m.

    kind of cryptic, but interesting. sounds like snapshots from a fun night.

    the last line makes me think of poo, though. i don't know why.

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  3. caraAugust 4, 2010 at 3:54 p.m.

    poo!
    hahaha, um that certainly wasn't the effect I was going for...or was it?

    in a way, poetry for me is like a diary entry, in the moment, more archive than elegy, although most of my poems are certainly mournful.

    ReplyDelete
  4. TheBlueMaskAugust 7, 2010 at 9:05 p.m.

    young hip wannabe revolutionaries!

    ReplyDelete