a billion suspended tears

Fog, or a billion suspended tears,
hung through our path,
dissociating appearance and the real.
Friends and enemies from thin air,
reach out your hand, nothing there.

We were on our way somewhere
and the light turned from our tired eyes.
We talked philosophy and early Miles Davis.
We thought: We were happier on Ninth Line,
why did You bring us out here to die.

We thought that as in video games
nothing takes shape till it gets near.
Nuit sur les Champs-Élysées,
pushing through the overloaded air.


Leave a Reply

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

WordPress.com Logo

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

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ 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 )

Connecting to %s