A crow cawed at dawn suggesting
A picture of idolatry, a woman gone
To wall for decorating a living room.
The crow cannot be mom to eat rice.
Our images cannot eat rice in words.
Images cannot eat rice, only words.
We have other images of ourselves
Hollow men, fleshed out of our bones
Poor nightly creatures of fluorescence
Roaming the empty wastes of minds.
We have other men with rolled shirts
Staring from ancient space, not yet
Knowing my own coming, that meant
His own going from all space in time.
There was space only for one of us.
All our images are shadows from past
That are cast on our space even after
Real things are gone except in sleep.
Posted at 06:22 pm by adukuri