The Next To Last…

goodbye poem

Spoken Word


The year we take away
The heights from which we’ve fallen
Sound asleep we hit
Pavements lined
With shining footprints
Worlds sequined against
Frantic outbursts of making it
Nor desire
Neither despair keep them
Stitched for very long
Do we all sleep on the way down
To wake up from that mild
Nightmare o’ repeating?
Funnel that dream into
My veins
This year — gradually
Now — in the next blink


more by LORD BISON

check out: That Golden Woman – A Spoken Word Album by Lord Bison

visit: Lord Bison’s Blog

photograph by NTYSIX


Image Curve’s Manifesto

Explore our Legends collection


Lord Bison

Jazz-soaked spirit running circles around despair...or something like that. Really. Lover of words, lover of being in worlds New Yorker, artist, Virgo besieged by airhead tendencies akin to Libra moves. Bronx is home base. Began an obsession with writing at seven and twenty-odd years hence, still at it. Enjoy/love/hate/be bored/appreciate to your heart's content. Or something like that.

You may also like...