First Thoughts


We play on each other’s stages

to music we can’t hear,

sound out an echo

into a strange new background.


We meet each other in the familiar

and miss one another in the weather,

speak in diverse tongues

of pictures we’ll never complete.


We sound alike on the street,

on the top floor of the bus.

At the hairdresser we are all blown dry

and we all shed skin.


That’s where the story ends,

the adventure begins. The day starts

with the mass rising from sleep.

The joints connecting again.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s