Ah, it never takes very much to get inside; just a tiny-width elegant shell protects us guts from the ever-expanding universe; "inside" and "outside" are never so very different. Semi-colon membranes never deny very much between sentences like: Blood is blue-colored until it hits the oxygen. and: The dead stink up the air. I never want to touch them. Periods never end anything properly. We are always left nervous, or worse bemused by the fact that we two sentences sometimes share things freely but never always. In tight knots people talk in hushed tones about strokes, but blood flows freely enough, they never remember that. The pale egg of my body will never hold on to its contents forever.
Shafer Hall Read Bio Author Discusses Poems
|©copyright 2004-2019, No Tell Motel. All poems ©copyright the authors.|