|10-23-2012, 11:47 PM||#1|
Join Date: Jun 2009
ceiling fan cycles
digesting the miles, thinking
"this is what highways really sound like"
a machine that
siphons while i sleep, mornings
met with something missing
between the linoleum and
remembering what i dreamed.
in the drain next to
your house, we followed
our flashlights, looking for ways
to feel small, or lost.
the grass reached down to us and
that was enough,
but i heard that sound
from underneath or within,
and you held on to the strap of my bag
while i hunted it.
when we emerged -
a drainfield, marsh grass all around,
a half moon lost
in the late afternoon.
beyond the guardrail, cars passed
like old summers out of my memory,
and you let go.
Last edited by brokencoastline : 10-23-2012 at 11:51 PM.
|10-24-2012, 03:29 AM||#2|
Join Date: May 2006
Location: Coming Down, Cleveland Avenue
I was hoping the (i) meant there would be more. my computer is dying, but I feel alive! Love it.