Poetry: Babylon High-5 (2)
By Nic Custer Sep 2010
"What time is it?"
What does it matter,
the sun is shining
and the trees are
climbing out of
their bark (like pajamas).
What does it matter,
the sun is shining
and the trees are
climbing out of
their bark (like pajamas).
Nomads burn Babylon,
home is where the freaks be.
Learn to see
A brush-stroked forest staining
the sky. Let rows of hammocks
tie trees with the lashes
from your eyes and
help tents sprout
from the mud.
Something is bubbling,
beyond stacked rocks.
Something is dirtying
the streets, searching
for the ground.
It never vanished,
just fell out of favor. You
can still find it if
you loiter where
Nothing and
No One will be.
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