Bottle
Posted to Poetry
by Tim Cunningham on 2002-02-20 12:07:00
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
