Edge Up

Something was coming—you slipped out before it

knocked, burned beside a window full of glaring

sky, the bedside pantomime that words edge up

to, the mystery of this place you can’t quite

go into opens up its bargain, harrowed

from the empty ricochet of matter, the

junk heap the body is in every last word.

. . .

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s