The bed isn't made tonight
and
it got cold in here
very quickly
My eyes strobe
My veins swell
I see everything
too clearly
and
all too often
I wonder what I should
be thinking
Wet blades of grass blow
in the wind one by one/
Seventy miles an hour
and their movements
pulse through
my entire body
I have never made it this far before
2 comments:
Powerful imagery and feeling.
Great to see you writing again.
You always have such evocative endings to your poems.
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