There is no satisfaction I have found
Where the talking heads abound,
Fecundity through a silver slither.
By their transmissions undeceived,
A different future misconceived
To my caruncle could deliver.

I’d rather wander worlds alone
If travelling lonely would atone
For those who stole from me.
Years to moments weighted gold
Which actors trapped and elsewhere sold;
Another time is remedy.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s