Saturday, July 18, 2009

The bireme anchored in an inlet somewhere on the coast of Ithaca.
          The song. On song. Sirens. Syrinx. Goats grazed on / the hillside.
   Drained. Drying up. Deserted. Dessicated. He yearned, not for rain but for contact. "There must be some way out of here."
The train to Bratislava was running late.
Goats grazed on / the syrinx-deserted hillside. The train to Bratislava was running late. He yearned, not for rain but for contact, for song. The bireme anchored in a drying-up inlet somewhere on the coast of Ithaca. "There must be some way out of here."

No comments: