All along the ticking surface
All the sand along the edge
All deep down in long dry throats:
Fingers press.
Hands Press.
All from loose and baggy skin
Round half-lucid teary minds
On beaches few and far away:
Fingers Press.
Hands press.
Wristwatch
More by wph
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Sleeping In The New House
Old shadows break in the brand new walls
The dirt projected by the naked winter giants of trees
Stains bare wooden flesh with familiar rusty bandages
-
12:00 A.M High Tide
Kid sitting at the edge of a dock.
Legs swinging in free fall.
Wood scrapes into his hands.
He thinks that the stars can talk to him.
-
Midwestern Night
Midwestern night.
There’s something out in the fields,
Something banging on the roof.
Fresh vomit in the toilet.
The sink is running, so you can’t
Hear your own heavy breathing.
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