Friday, 17 April 2015

When I lose it all to Wölfli will you visit me in Bern,
To pick apart the nuance of the joke I tried to learn?
The ever turning fractals and the vaccuum's absent ghost,
banished by kazooed request from our much hallowed host.
When Portugal finds peace again the system shall disband,
and trail these tired neurons round the borders we have planned.
You'll find me there on paper and I'll meet you in the garden,
or the both in every facet of this complicated carbon.

No comments:

Post a Comment