Tuesday, September 13, 2016


one by one
each letter back to you
scratched in ink cuts
meaning less than you can say
splashed with ink guts
thick and red under fingers
running nails about its edge
the thread drags open and closes
uneven markings printed lines
ripples spiraling along the grain
with a stench to follow
building along with the years
one by one they pile each sediment in line
layers that sticks to your skin
that rising that sinking
to bury you

to bury you.

No comments:

Post a Comment