A microscopic home.

this is a literary blog. i'm literate so i must have something to say. hopefully.

Thursday, February 02, 2006

edit: to untangle these things

sit me down in a field where the heavy clouds churn
and sway and I will explain to
you my calloused fingers; my internal bruising.

you will swear that my skin is the colour
of wheat at harvest


I crawl into your lap
to construct a desensitized version
of our history

you say staying would be worthless, soon
the bats will challenge the treeline

the sky would turn black
at first chance.


all I can do is shake out my stringy curls
into the warmth of this day

you will always find me
held as close as rain.

so do not waste my time waiting in the city

we may forget how to raise the sun.


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