[76]

Sinkin Soon

Someone promised me sunshine, north of the city.
I won’t name names but you know it was you.
If I’d known you owned an ark, I might have thought
twice before I packed my books in my satchel, before
I closed my umbrella for good and made a copy
of your key. The animals rustle all night long. I’ve
grown used to the smell of fur but not to the eleven
days of rewarmed stew and the brown-spotted mushrooms
arching against the bedpost.
Two by two you said.
And yet here I am, alone with you.

~

LINER NOTES


Image taken with iPhone.
Words written on the bed, at 11pm
Time Taken 3 minutes. Faast.
Brain on … zzzz.


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This entry was published on March 16, 2012 at 10:29 pm and is filed under March, Poems, Seattle, Self-Portraits. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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