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Little black notebook, pg. 2-4
Gleis drei, Leoben.
(Drizzle. Wind. Green roof.)
An old man with wiry glasses and limbs covers his mouth with yesterday’s crumpled news.
(I choose to believe that some of the wrinkles are laugh-lines.)
I wonder what you’d look like with a paper hat, and remember i couldn’t fold one for the life of me in the same thought-wave.
My love for you was rolled into a single bad ring once, but that was the fault of the world.
(Don’t give me ideas, ye foul straw-wrapping.)
You’ve finished my drink. I’ve deciphered the headline.
(Ende der Eiszeit für Skifahrer.)
It’s time for that train to arrive.
© Nachtschwärmer
(Drizzle. Wind. Green roof.)
An old man with wiry glasses and limbs covers his mouth with yesterday’s crumpled news.
(I choose to believe that some of the wrinkles are laugh-lines.)
I wonder what you’d look like with a paper hat, and remember i couldn’t fold one for the life of me in the same thought-wave.
My love for you was rolled into a single bad ring once, but that was the fault of the world.
(Don’t give me ideas, ye foul straw-wrapping.)
You’ve finished my drink. I’ve deciphered the headline.
(Ende der Eiszeit für Skifahrer.)
It’s time for that train to arrive.
© Nachtschwärmer
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