at night
he oceans
softly beyond horror
in waking
a body’s cursive skin
remembers laughing
then the act of morning
resplendent with apology
afflicted with new
walking into a
three-legged day,
each time, bells everywhere
luxury of forging memory
concrete and steel collecting
in the corners of cities
put some blood
to those bells
as he oceans
coming clean away
never the cut that healed straight
mind the life going infinite
in forgetting
a life rendered
from fat of moments
is thus shouldered by skies
missives or letters
plain speak in first waking,
how hungry for the past
still
he oceans certain
all moments
unbound to him
"walking into a three-legged day
ReplyDeleteeach time, bells everhwhere"
I really like this verse. It speaks to me, somehow, of the pain and frustration of everyday life. Three-legged not as the stool that sits steady on any (rough) surface, but as the dog who learns to adapt his flawed body to the demands of life, to move on, to survive. Nice. Drew.