|
by Simon Perchik You become a shell, this time hardened by so many times though the dress is empty —your arm around the Earth lets nothing brush against the sleeves except the soft dirt that remembers clearing out a place for snow to be scattered the way you dead give way to the great weight pressing against your wish that everything be as it was and you no longer broken apart by those stones you let pass through your fingers —it’s all uphill and grass is everywhere struggling to bring you to the surface with nothing in your heart :a buoy taking the lead as it used to beginning to fill with air and marble Copyright 2020. All rights reserved.
|