The Wandering MindMy city is a forest
surrounded by mushrooms
where woodpeckers pick
the towers apart
and the streets loom
like rotten roots
over the carcasses
of broken children’s dreams
sinister hands ravish my sister
under the rattling sky
but it’s all tradition –
There’s no room for fairy tales
in this pale forest of doom
where life lasts as long
as the fleeting sky
