Roads turning white
I do not know
Who or what
And hard to keep
Head on neck
Filled with metal scarps
Or rice, or cotton, or plastic bags
And all that remains is a lingering
Sticky feeling
Slick and raw like fish
Cut in two
On ice at a market
The trobbing numbness and confusion
Cannot be screamed
The walls of my skull
Need to be cleaned
Ingen kommentarer:
Legg inn en kommentar