Wednesday, October 21, 2009

stepping on a piece of broken glass

explosions disappear into television screens
and your eyes holding my hands
don't comfort me

the moon is full of earth's stories
and silent as a rock
but has no one to walk with

bridges cover the deep
while divers plunge so far down
and you float on top
somewhere in the middle
sitting on a raft of plastic ideas
as you drift on and back again

mistakes sit around in books
on shelves of sawdust
that dream of what they once were

glasses clink and crack
amidst memories and pictures of dreams
and I am one of them

1 comment:

Kait said...

Wow. That was really good. "Your eyes holding my hands don't comfort me" and the move from moon to deep to somewhere in the middle.

What are the glasses?

I'd love to hear more of an interpretation if you ever feel like it.