The only memory is alone. Others pass under the window, hats, tops of heads, wandering waves against black asphalt, come but mostly go and never stop. The skyline is cardboard, will be removed. Shops across the way doused by traumaed traffic lights, bounce on bedroom walls, wet pillow cases, choke, soak blind. Furniture lacquers skin-dead hands, bile-smeared sweat a satin gray. Mirrors stare back, shrivel sugar brown matted hairs drawn close as dying clover. Muscles taut, fetal ricket with adrenaline, forget the tell - nothing is true but the vigil - choose with relish not to sleep, but are human. The collecting filth, a shrinking room, dust moved by melting walls - thick parched rust in heavy rain, exiting sediment, seeks sifted rest. This is what he is, total freedom, synapses suspended, shattered, snapped, breaths released, never missed, soul sought tangents never gained.
Craig Kirchner Read Bio Author Discusses Poems
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