ours is a hill town
start from the top & t
u
m
b
l
e
down into a misspelled café -
3 O' clock, a few pecks there
& there
& here
the closing door
disrobement
stuck (in) sari (in)
it, a long yellow, a sallow soft
the dog fight of the hill comes to me in winds
but sorry, we're closed
the yelps, and time -
we're closed.
an airlessness, an easy breath
of exhaling truth - the way is upwards
it always has been.
~Ajay
21/8/19
YOU ARE READING
bliss station ~ poetry
Poetry~ where is your bliss station / you have to try to find it ~
