Lambs
Guitar acoustic. Words sung. Hung indecipherable.
Stripped of meaning by reverb and tunnels.
Subway. Spadina. Bloor.
“The street finds it’s own cadence for things.”
Emergent. Complex. Station. Staccato.
Raised to signal against the ground.
Some Eastern European grist mill.
Form shaped by the long tail of dysfunction into white noise.
“It puts the coin in the basket or it gets…
Lambs.”
Advertisement
Explore posts in the same categories: poetry
Tags: poetry
You can comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site.