#Poem Return

Slap face-down in puddle,
spitting out spilled well-water,
brown ground-swell,
sputters of storm-drains,
cold finger-skeletons crack and jab,
scalpels twist in knuckles,
tendons burn like dry-ice.

I follow what threads I can –
like hair-ball, fur-ball, a shower’s
blocked plug-hole – loose ends,
knotted, plaited…

I came back here –
all I found was childish folly.


One thought on “#Poem Return

  1. Pingback: #Poem Return | Ash2

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