Going between bundles
The locus is extreme
Center of activity
Damaged brain and testicles

Surely another kind of dream
One in which is seen the supreme
Lowly callings bear the weight
Slipping through the web

The next in line can wait
Serving solely for an answer
Cannot wait
Seemingly undervalued

Hours grave and imbecils
Hours death from imbeciles
Grasping through the dungeon
Slightly impervious to the masses

Fixed railways but no surprises
Simply etch the nineteen
Desperate fools emerges
Touching cleanly the machine

Best not to avoid simplicity
Since it gets infrequently
Tiny nurses
Yellow men

Flacked by necessity
Of going through the waves
Touching hour of destiny
No one there to avail

About Emil Hjort

Writer, poet and mysticist.
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *