Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Tread Mill

When i tire... there's treading
in a a downy cloud of retreat.

A fan in pinwheel shadow
and spin, silently paddles
a pristine orb in darkness.

Closing time in fetid aging
of cheese, dreams and waits...

for the five o'clock somewhere.

1 comment:

  1. it's five oclock somewhere just not where I am or so it seems