a text message poem in three parts, transcribed from twitter |
DrewTM |
broken and empty in a world of beauty?
So to the night,
to the world he moves.
For whom shall the heart beat in the passing lonely air?
For we taste union yet with none
but the quiet one
whom the tender crickets extol.
For what shall we open our eyes
if the lids withhold
only smoke? And mirrors cannot either
fulfill such hungry vision.
Labels: Drew
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