Wednesday, 29 May 2013

The Run


The trouble was near
And I could hear
Songs and shouts like
An old leaked mike
The dance of the dead
A wobbly white head
Smiling bones hanging high
Not at all shy
Revels without a reason
‘It is our season’
They looked at me
The key lost me
I turned to run
Spot running isn't fun

Funny dream I left
Lights on, I slept


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