Wouldn’t It be Nice
Feb 4, 2021
In the swamp of my mind I wander,
wouldn’t it be nice to feast on the red flowers
— to be drunk on the stream of oblivion —
when it is fire that flows through my veins?
Wouldn’t it be nice to go on a ferry ride,
to float on such a faceless tide?
(…so this is me, my whole life, all in a rusty coin between my teeth…)
Well, wouldn’t it be nice to roam the endless meadow
when all my nights are spent in sorrow?
What a useless pillow.
