Wednesday, October 14, 2015


Slack skin and arthritic hands.
These are the raddled lands

where at the dusk of time
an old man lies,

his head to the wall,
his feet to the door.

I will rest here forever more,
facing the dusty window sill

and the yellow lights outside
running a bent line up the hill until

I find a way to survive.
There is a silence to tell.