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Town of things
by Sam Roberts
Sleepy village, coma walking dead
Of dreamlike shadows and tree men
Branches for arms, egg shells: broken bodies
The town of things, living on the beaten shores
Sitting on sins lap, melting the clock
drip,
drip,
drip,
cementing ducks with eggshell feet
12/21/2003
Author's Note: Just a little poem for Bosch and Dali, be cool if there was a town of weird things. Quite disturbing though x
Posted on 12/21/2003
Copyright © 2024 Sam Roberts
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