Another prototype rolls off the production line
and the condensation of my naked ambition
drips lazily down the windows.
I see all but the shadows of my own soul
falling across the path of my colleagues and comrades.
The stroke of my signature
dances in stupor;
as a thousand trembling fingers
touch a thousand nervous lips.
Bring me your wildest dreams for tasting -
sweet and salt,
the bitterest of bellyaches,
the warmth of urban heartburn.
No comments:
Post a Comment