nomad
name the world
in your wanderings
pitch your tent
one moment
cast off your moorings
to the wings
of cormorants
YOU ARE READING
trips
Poetrytalking about trips don't trip don't move don't groove sitting in street poverty such cross nailing you down in the tomb of lost paradise eating at your brain your eyes your infinite holes piercing the guts of well-fed bourgeoisie never gave you...
