donderdag 2 juli 2015

Camera Obscura

I’m dying every night,
a moment in the shadow
of a grinning moon,
a count in the sneaky gliding
of a cloud upon the light

my thought is a hobo
on the sound of a crow,
I’m closing the brightness
doubt after doubt,

the sharp of their edges
stripped of any kind of reason
is cutting as a knife in these sounds,

out of my throat falls a scream
into a dark and silent room,
I disappear in the waves of the tide
in this dream that I have
of a sleep that is waxing.
© Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere


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