There is a slow death inside of me,
and a hollow emptiness of form,
where I can hear the echo of my beating,
well past 12, and into the morning sun.
A screaming bottle rocket,
pointed towards the bottom of the creek floor,
burbling its muted voice for the anticipatory
faces of little boys.
Soon it will burst, their voices inside of me,
and I will continue as I have been,
never glancing back, or taking measure,
except the occasional glancing--
To the blister on my thumb.
YOU ARE READING
Please Don't Touch
PoésiePlease Don't Touch is my first self-published book of poetry, written and published originally in 2012. #51 in Poetry, 3 June, 2017 #85 in Poetry, 4 June, 2017 #108 in Poetry, 25 May, 2017 #136 in Poetry, 26 May, 2017 #149 in Poetry, 24 May, 2017 #1...
