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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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.
-
Pliocene Morning
There was a collapsed star.
There was light at the very end of a cave.
There was lightning that struck a tree.
There was a baby born
With a slightly bigger skull, one day.
-
Final Bow of the Puppets
The humans are out there taking their bows in the light where the world can see.
We are piled up,
cold and immobile on the floor as the green room light fills
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