Rubble of the crystal stair

I am in a pot. Not really,
but too long I’ve simmered
with a beach in my head,
all its pretty eyeballs screwing
me and mine, too long I’ve
washed the floors I don’t tread on
without crawling from Eden,
too long been a curdle in the jug.
So my arms wash the floors
lonesomely, five feet away from me,
dragging and their eyes pout
every time they reach out and meet
nothing. Not my shoulders, not my feet.


~ by Jeremy on June 27, 2009.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: