December
Thursday 10 December 2009 photo 1/1
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There is no thing,
more fucking opposed to poetry than civilisation itself.
This incessant business, this fucking incessant life
With no meaning except the plain meaning in sight.
The shy sentence with a sombre expression.
You and me, we walked under the same umbrella.
Both speachless and dry, even though there were holes in it.
You said you felt untouchable by life.
But what is life if not touchable.
Being touchable is being real.
By not being touchable, by not being proven real. Is it then real.
The imagination sprung lose in our minds
as we walked onto the sidewalk, with our black and white shoes.
I seemed to be stepping in every puddle of water there was.
You seemed to be levitating.
Maybe she was untouchable.
more fucking opposed to poetry than civilisation itself.
This incessant business, this fucking incessant life
With no meaning except the plain meaning in sight.
The shy sentence with a sombre expression.
You and me, we walked under the same umbrella.
Both speachless and dry, even though there were holes in it.
You said you felt untouchable by life.
But what is life if not touchable.
Being touchable is being real.
By not being touchable, by not being proven real. Is it then real.
The imagination sprung lose in our minds
as we walked onto the sidewalk, with our black and white shoes.
I seemed to be stepping in every puddle of water there was.
You seemed to be levitating.
Maybe she was untouchable.
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