Before being killed at seventeen, I was G C Kite-Powell. Now zombiefied, I have breathed ghostly, fragmented life into this blog. Within, you will find a series of snapshots in the form of corrupted, subjective haiku, intended to enliven.
Breathe deep
The gathering gloom
Watch lights fade
From every room
Bedsitter people
Look back and lament
Another day's useless
Energy spent
from Nights In White Satin (Full Version) - Moody Blues
Saturday, 16 July 2011
214 Dark-ish: Incommunicado
T.v. stares through smog.
Mum's knitting, cig. on her lip:
yards from smoking Dad.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Comments of seventeen syllables as per the haiku-ish used on this blog will be appreciated.