Satellites

by Drew Gold   Aug 17, 2006


You tiptoe through my dreams
stampeding as I wake

a rush of wind then rises
freezing solid, it does stay

a block within my center
that perfect yesterday

a static pulse of thought
this waiting satellite

stopped along its orbit
spreads out into a web

catches dreams, devours
your every signal sent

a lingering transmission:
silence chewing silence

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