How deep does
emptiness have to be
to feel every drop on my skin?
Filling it up with its touch,
absorbing depth and weight
until I sink.
Like dividing the sky;
pulling it underneath
uncovering a cloudy layer
stripping deeper
and closer.
Shaking until something comes out
over touchable concrete
revealing itself to be the same.
I wish it to pour
itself in the corners
of blank eyes
and strip the still face
to feel the heart
dripping down
when it once
felt solid inside.
The all body of
inside undoing
under a cheek of
a smooth opening
willing to turn
inside out.
How deep does emptiness
have to be to finally
sink?
KAMU SEDANG MEMBACA
dirt & human
PuisiThis collection has the dirt for my grave and my soul for God but when it rains there's meaning for my muddy heart. (Some of the poems are older and published already, I moved them to this collection, so if you recognize a poem that's why.)
