Thursday, 3 December 2009


Your dream is pure style free roaming around the strange alien landscapes of the future of water. In your language angels lisp syllables of horizons blackest. Jewels wrist slowly slide your arms sweet inkblots on a dance floor, surface of the moon. Foolish to think that one way more real than other women and laugh insanely great wolf in tongues to build time. Run from one to escape pursuit. He will be killed and his name is true. Avoid them at all costs that you raised to heaven and puff of pink cotton. Throw your bag into the water and floating libido free young.

Dion McGregor - The Flight
Dion McGregor - The Collection

Roy Orbison - In Dreams

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I don't really understand the depth to the poem. It may come to me in time.

-Zane of ontario honey