By Mather Schneider
It is impossible to know
who you are
a thousand different people
in a day
criminal to one
lover to another.
It is a hot desert day and you wear
a purple robe
like an ice sculpture that melts
at 111 degrees.
When you go to bed you are not the same person
you were when you woke
smiling from a dream
of snow caps and lichen.
Morality is not meaning.
The curtains billow like philosophical bullfighters
different each moment
even the cowboys on the pictures
on the hotel wall
age and change
and nothing will be
still.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment