Sight of bland

Our tongues they slip
around titles
squirming to avoid
making those specific sounds
lap up familiar names instead
save for streaks
of oh no yes sir no sir I know
breathe burnt stove smoke
take in this accident and
as fire burns it clean
I will think on forgiveness
spindle twigs all bent
roaming words all spent
this is the tower I slept in
this is the forest before
filled up with gold leaves and sparrows
filled up with storm drains and crows

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