14. Be my guest
Welcome to my home,
my fellow nomad
on our wayward strayings
out of life and in it
to get out of it and over it
in toilsome search for any subtsance,
although there is not much in it,
being out of bed and having none of it
in crowded rooms of junk and memories,
of memories of junk and junks of memories
to encourage claustrophobia
and continue fencing in your soul
in fears of losing this your prison.
Sorry, friend, but there is nothing I can offer you,
except my poverty and lack of everything,
but be my guest and share with me my life
of nothingness and gruesome toil for nothingness,
since that is all a nomad generously has to offer
to his fellow straying victim of this nothingness.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
Read 1477 times
Written on 2006-08-15 at 10:49
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