Sometimes I really
dive into the words of another
and drown,
and get lost,
and forget about my own.
I’m lying under feet
of snow, the words
are heavy and chilling,
and holding me tight.
My mouth stays closed,
my voice is silent —
even when the mornings turn bright.
free verse
I’m doing the thing I didn’t want to do
again.
I’m caught up in the web of flashing lies
again.
Pocket-sized slot machine resting by my bedside,
I think it’s time to cut the power cord.
A stiff neck and a broken spirit,
this game is rigged —…
One morning, I left the house
in my cable-knit cap and
boots, and by the time
I came home, summer
was seeping in through the floorboards
and through the attic window.
Nothing had been maintained —
not the yard, not my legs or toenails,
not the screen doors or storm windows,
though the heat’s arrival shouldn’t…
John Keats is one of my favs. Love this poem!