Shades vary,
influenced by
half-clouded sun,
and a green grass
reflection.
Noon sees yourself.
Dusk sees ahead.
Pulling shoes off,
tucking in the day
to sleep with.
Combing tangles.
Loose hair; gravity,
and all I can think about
is sweeping soon.
Spitting mint
in the sink and
water falls.
Changing clothes
and into natural face.
Waterfalls.
Breathing, just breathing.
The book I can't-
I can't understand.
And sleep like a rough
pillow is tricky.
Thinking thoughts.
Tossing images and
turning in the mattress.
The air is exhausted by
motions and a busy
insomnia.
It feels like a day,
a resounding maybe
sinks heavier than
drowsy eyelids.
Rain- I think.
It's supposed to rain.
The window comes to me,
but all I can see is the
supposed-to.
I slide my shoes on.
I need to sweep soon.
BẠN ĐANG ĐỌC
dirt & human
Thơ CaThis 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.)
