Wind Whispers

there’s a cold print inside me
a blunt ridge on a record
dust whirls around
rust grains flow in my blood
leaving the old iron works
unsold by their collectors

this song can be hardly heard
swept away by morning winds
when I wake up without wishes
feeling a taste of frozen lemon
sliced at once…
on the knife’s blade a deep stain remains

many things can’t be purchased
forgotten or interchanged
but they are aging
wasp nests gather between blinds
broken lines meet on the walls
colors blend becoming gray
neutral and indifferent

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Categories: My Poems in 2010 | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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