Saturday, July 24, 2010

A Gipsy's Fortune Telling

A familiar face, a familiar place
is all I need, all I will ever ask for.
Just need to get away from deadweight
memories and acquaintances, unnecessary
for what I'm about to do.

My way or the highway they say,
when they see the scars, forgetting
that in fact, this was predicted by the stars.
It is meant to happen.

Endless lines, drunken away, blurred by
less important, blatant prayers. The paper's
stocked infinite layers, with each new word
the single word means less.
A poet's dreams,
what a mess.



Image from: http://www.flickr.com/photos/hotcherry/522354938/

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