the lines of moving half a body;
checking seams in the mirror
against the wet gap
of your joints / considering the
likelihood of being a request
some day collated features
a clean line running down & up,
insert a siren call, worried.
so the big sun drips a little light
through a closed window
& my face shifts its weight towards the floor,
shadow leaving a stain, here I am with my face
flooding against it, starting to figure it's
not quite blood that gets tainted. I tried to neglect
the word language, here, hostile
as it is, but. what ever
particular it is
suits me.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.