evenings from my bathtub

And from the gutted ivory I birthed an immense quiet. In the lateness, the walls and the tiles stretching, sinking into a greater configuration. There were the hollows beneath my tongue, caverns deeper than moons, than the ends of god. Here, there’s always a burial of feeling, the weary moments passing through into the parts of me that span everything, a misty patched space broader than my fingers or the small streams of blood. The body is stunted; most of what I feel and know exists in the air, in the crooks of imaginary space. So many things endlessly tumbling and traveling through one square-inch of skin. All this found through a bullet wound, the opposite side of a name. metro

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s