Early Poem

This is an old poem, from a time of freedom.

WALL

Were you there the day the wall came down?

Oh, not that wall.
Any wall.

Nothing of historical significance, perhaps.
Merely an accession of riches
to the underground playground.

between the dream
and the imagination
the song
and the silence
the skin
and the shadow
we dance in supplication
to the god of nothing
that the world between
might not be our undoing.

You fight hard for your icons;
I, for my nocturnal ramblings.
Between them
we forge
something with a name we can trust.


Funny, now I'm the one with the icons, though they represent dream states as much as myth states.

More tomorrow.