The Sleeping Calendar
Nostalgia scratches the days off a sleeping calendar. Tracing the butterflies in your stomach, But this sketch never appears to draw to a conclusion... & you'd found me writing in circles, of seasons the world forgot.Oh why must we travel to the ends of the earth when we return?! & I rest these reveries in the rain, but this chessboard remains at a stalemate, & Oh how the pawn ponders upon which square he shall wander? Stroking this snare to the rhythm of these velvet verses, & there we were on another holiday at the hangover hotel. Staggering with visions in the cities of Apollo, where alleyway artists revel in pungent pits of poetry & drunken thrones tumble like houses of cards. & so we traded in the records of our lives for a loaf of bread, but that won't be the final headline the newspapers said. For tomorrow we'll find ourselves far far away from these empty towns, laughing merrily on the rooftops!