Sunday
week
liminal place the days between the twinge
of pain the faceplant long hours down
the sweating dreams the clothes torn off
in fevered disrepair stasis seems evaporative
salivating for the week of wearing clothes to come
again these bagging softnesses hold hot air
intervene a shield where I end and sleeping
dogs
begin this time breathed in the
over-heated
place the limbo escaped words run like
bird feet onto sand waiting on the tide when
Sunday awakens to smell the salt the sea
the turn
days between the twinge
ReplyDeletewhere I and sleeping dogs begin
long fevered hours of clothes to come
the Sunday salt sea turns
Whoah Nelson! That's it.
DeleteLove it, dear Kerri.
ReplyDeleteand all our ashes come to urns
ReplyDeletesome age to pass must smash
then we're breath to air
and then the binge begins again
all MY ashes come to earns.....
ReplyDelete