little pig does poetry
to say good-Bye
As nights melt into days,
and days drift into nights,
the sense of time ceases to exist.
Every nodding branch in the distance,
every pale corpse in the sky,
and each no-name bird that wanders by
pull me further away from reality.
And before I realize, the day I've dreaded
greets me with suitcases and ticket in hand,
leading me on a one-way flight
into the breath and break of night.