Today

Drawing closed, drawers
and other things with latches.
Hands as pleasure, nodes of the quarry.
Radio frequencies positioned in lulls,
in the red room where you sleep.
At night I know you are one room over,
my bed positioned by the door.
The stable pride of things called home:
despondent handiwork and paper craft,
a sudden drawing to musty smells.

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 )

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