sometimes
I hate when all the words do is cover my irrevocability
losing
my humanity is
my
finality of coffin nails
my
spaded dirt
hurling
myself
into
my dug holes
for
the blindness of foxes
and
their noses
and
the other
burrowed
things
that
go and bump
into
the security of night
I
used to be confident
enough
to trust myself
to
do the right thing
or
at least know
what
the right things were
but
I don’t anymore
and
every boiled empty
cooks
down to syrupy reminders
of
last gasp flowers
that
vine every why
drowning
can be
another
end of wings
and
you better learn to begin
is
what is singing
for
you to swim
to
where your heart
doesn’t
need any
float
buoys of comfort
for
awhile
EJR
©
No comments:
Post a Comment
Hello there ...