afterthoughts before her,
blowing
pissed-off into the wind.
Somewhere Monday
but not yet.
Sometime tomorrow
but not now.
Somehow broken
yet unbowed.
Some things tear
and won't cauterize.
threaded with cobwebs
and moody medicine,
aching to break clear
just once.
My past is taking on water,
soaked with salt
and nausea's backwash,
passing as nerves
chewed to cheesy bread,
cloaked in this carcass
I call home.
No comments:
Post a Comment