Souler-gypsy
separating into an astral funk
On landslides of legends
With evidence,
summoning up shadows.
The dead meet during our gathering.
Their intentions, lost as if in a crowd.
I purse my lips at the outline
and listen as they pass.
Fragile dolls sound like foreign bells
and penetrate the room light.
There is fear in the
camera man who wants to
bleat like a lamb.
Oh travelers of the divide
like a flash in the trees.
Neither I, nor you are on this
road alone looking for that
which is unknown.
© Sonja J. Johnston 04-May-2010
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
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