Dumb communiqué

The morning breaks over the Atlantic Arc, I suppose. And it brings me nothing but an old and fried dream.
 
Then I have a prayer and a cold corner
because you never wanted me near
to your deceit and your fear.


The opaque seagulls yield a tired sunrise under the fat old sun
on the turning away.



As the profound and the shallow melt on a screen of blue sky: disappear.


Goodbye blue skies
goodbye dear lies


and your deceit and your regret
and this broken man, yet.


And your fear.






And all the times that you made me
disappear.