Wednesday, November 21, 2012

can i send you mine

it's better sometimes
to keep
this all quiet. never
mention what you
do, day in day out.
eeking words
from your cold
hands in the
morning, from the tired
and dirty hands
at night.
they want to send you
theirs.
and it's all horrible.
unreadable.
you can't just cut
your arm
and call yourself
a surgeon.
you have to know where
the knife goes
in, where the veins
are, where the heart
beats despite all.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

a compendium of dreadful,unsolicited poetry and a pound of malted milk balls....

please, santa.