the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Thursday, December 24, 2009


Push it out
Pull it out,
It never does seem quite right.
The almost ghost is there
Floating in and out of light.
Falling backwards,
Reaching forwards
Teaching more words to myself
Because the bandages won't stick
To the moisture of my mouth.
I was grasping for things to sing about.
But my speech is not rich
To purchase a vowel,
So I wipe up my water
With stained paper towels.

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