crawl

 

Time to carry these limbs to bed,

A new morn awaits;

Life is in that.

You are a flotsam wet rag

of shoe shine joke

Your fingers ache with the knowing

as keys hang below

like nobodies business…

Scrabble lay neatly in your face!

Nothing explaining the terms of this agreement,

between heart and face

Cream of whose crop?

You were bent over then…

It’s easier to see the beauty in a crouched figure.

The sun is far more accommodating on the lowly.

In these moments

words come slow and torment

drunk gives way to sober again

and it's your face that makes the bile turn

in me

I want to crawl

I want drag my body against rough ground

and taste asphalt between my teeth