Anthology of dreams (drownedinwords) wrote, @ 2005-02-25 19:12:00

Pamplona Eternally

Late February, I'm wearing
layers like some sort of shield against
winter and its hidden heartbreaks.

I'm late, as always,
and maybe punctuality just doesn't mean
that much to me anymore.

Then the light and down
into the tunnel with the funeral homes
overhead, where my nose will drip out
all the things I never learnt properly.

And now, in the noise and the dark,
I am a bull, I snort inside this fragile cage,
stamping my feet
tearing this ticket into tiny squares
of memory
to be ingested later.

Nothing is clear to me,
but my blood is too clean
to be out in this night,
full of leg warmers and fanatical
paper tearers.

No part of us sees that we are charging still,
never caged but
storming through the night without sanity.
This night that stares at us
from every street lamp
and wonders how we freed ourselves from
the shackles of daylight,
which even it cannot escape.