Dust storm. And I missed it. The bullet shot...went through my skin and twisted.
All the way -in-to my/the bone.
Buried/////Resurfacing years later through your inquiries.
Why yes-
I've always ached this way
Just as an archaeological dig takes years- not days.
To discover all the hidden= once living/ now dead species.
By the time you reached me..... even my bones had begun to di si nt egr ate.
Oh the shame.
The dust.
The wind.
The big bang-it took my body to SEE the errors of my (way.)
With wounds left open
and acts beyond middle school charades.
You like to think it and imagine all the ways I have gone about this:
life the wrong way.
He's singing songs about a stale heart and a fallen braid.
I felt the shift the first day the earth quaked. Of all my uncertainties: certainly there is a crowded line wrapped around the parking lot of my emotions.
And how does one become a ghost in the first place? There was the ugliest trail leading me to all of my answers. I stalled and just stared at the ground....looking up is not looking" up" these day.
so it seemed...
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