Photographer Unknown The end of time wasn’t like this the last go around,
wasn't lake or gray morning, an apartment I didn’t know,
rumpled sheets, a glass half full of water,
the floor above creaking with the weight of
someone who wears shoes even at home—
No one knows how the mind works.
How are you supposed to remember where you live
in a world contracted to expire—
Rain pouring along the pane.
You promised to respond and still there’s nothing—
- Kazim Ali
wasn't lake or gray morning, an apartment I didn’t know,
rumpled sheets, a glass half full of water,
the floor above creaking with the weight of
someone who wears shoes even at home—
No one knows how the mind works.
How are you supposed to remember where you live
in a world contracted to expire—
Rain pouring along the pane.
You promised to respond and still there’s nothing—
1 comment:
This man has such a beautiful way with words... aren't you glad I recommended him? ;) I might just have to steal this book from you.
[P.s. Monkey things youah a little squicah]
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