Wednesday, May 23, 2012


I'm sleeping in a junk yard and breathing in mold.
The crazy hits and then it hits again.
 I want to be in free fall. Falling free.
Gravity's got a hold, pulling me closer than most. Affectionate embrace, clamped to the ground. I haven't seen the sun in days. Haven't tasted in days. Haven't slept in days. No wait, that's all I do in days. Haven't slept in nights. There are caves in this bed, there's a world in this bed, I could live a lifetime in this bed. If I get up in the dark there's no one around. Haven't spoken in days. Haven't changed my clothes in days, they are growing close up to my skin, like these sheets, close to my body. Welcome to my lair, welcome to my animal home, sit your bones in that corner, burrow down in that corner, hide your heart in that corner. Sit with me, sit, still, still, stiller.
There is more life growing in that bowl, than I hold in my body.

1 comment:

  1. I'm pretty sure I wake up in this room every day!

    Just discovered your blog through Never Trust a Womble. I am enjoying a lot of things here. I'm also a writer/poet/retail assistant - and it's nice to see what other young writers are up to. All the best! Henry X