October 20, 2019

• Cecil

  i wanted to write about something
  similar to this approaching morning
  with its overdue rain,
  maybe something not quite as dark

  but would you look at this?
  a page as blankly apprehensive
  as yesterday's page
  a wordless weekend, and
  a cup of bitter coffee

  and beside me, a precariously piled
  hill of bills and books
  cascading to the floor
  onto the threadbare persian carpet.

  you are... somewhere...maybe dead,
  maybe alive, maybe your mind
  has left you. we have become
  prisoners of our souls
  at home in our separate cells
  for whatever reason

  so i watch this gray fury of sky
  hoping for some sign of you,
  perhaps stumbling down the path
  to the old spring in arkansas
  carrying your whole life
  behind your tired ribs

  into time's descending shadows

  • 7:04 pm
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