Litkicks Message Board Archive


Posted to Poetry

maybe we evolve
inside a bottled world
The air is glass
taking me in
on secrets never known

The surface looks sunset-red
maybe someone's dying,
but I prefer to think not,
and keep the sun as source

The sound of weeping instruments
penetrates the glass
everything shatters
and we are through
why keep stopping,
I want to listen and vitalize