Falling Of Letters

Sentences are not in conjunction beginnings and endings mixed like the Bohemian story of a refugee- without home, without friends. The fortune teller said: look to the future, Tuesday is your lucky day. The poet said: Those nights - when you recognised the villages by the barking and the smoking fires perhaps you were there. Sentences were separated like parts of a shipwreck or the doubtful glances of eldrely women. The words had been cut to some different sound - that voice in the corner of the room which sometimes repeated to you, low and lower, your sorrowful song then changed to harsh cry - and tears dried and the letters of the words have fallen searching for a new word for life - newer truer simpler.