squeezing my brain
'til tiny, delicate droplets of thought trickle warm down
deep into my spinal tissues, folds and crevasses
thick, static, protected from reality
and raging storm
the whistling wind's sweet lullaby
and i
under clean sheets
after hot shower
-
the sun shines brightly cutting through the haze into tight corners of the post-atomic daze the concrete alley floor, with its broken flow...
-
for fourteen years i wished my father dead at the age of eighteen i buried him it would take another six years to be rid of his physica...
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