poem-a-day #35

the slam, the pen
down there, the hand,
up here, the words.

it deserved a slap.

cavity
in a colorless
hollow ringing,
who? are? you

it was a silly question.

against windows, tall fingerprinted streaks
took out a few dinners, smeared
and cluttered the backroads, storms
away.  downed branches

outside, undistinguished
greens, there is one
pulse.  i put my fingers
to the wind and cough. all sky
ever did was open its
toothy mouth and drive.

gray matter in a rainy mouth.

i saw no fencepost to lean upon.
brains outgrew their nest,
one head was not enough.

was i scammed
was that pile of dust fragile

how?  and laughter. a moment

trapped between alone

i was never before

slammed in your face
state, slight glancing a silence

you miss your dream

by calling out "you"
by calling for answers

5.27.13