I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
And so the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're goin' through
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Scenes from a homeward commute
From last night. This is the kind of sky painters have wet dreams about.
No comments:
Post a Comment