all souls, 1902

the dirty Thames. the

dirty brown fog. i lie

upon my bed hands

behind my head. walk

the boards watch the

boats roll by. i’m

 

open to the voices

on the street, wheels,

the clatter that makes me

glad to be, alone. my

bones, only, weigh me

down, my existential

leanings. doctor,

 

12/12/17

Advertisements

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 )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ 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 )

Connecting to %s