Eric has fallen asleep and dissolved,
in cream sheets full of fingerprints,
soiled identifying
fumbling with the knots of tourniquets
that hold Eric’s full heart,
as the examiner pulls apart
clots of identifying marks,
Eric fears to learn all he was was those
fingers
trying to pull off his
blank white page, leaving such heavy
clumps of
ingers
ying to pull of
lank white pa
ing such he
ps
3 Comments:
it is beautiful how it falls apart
Thanks. I was just copying the picture
That was great. I usually immediately skip past any Blog I see that has poetry. Well, truthfully I did the same with yours, but in the time it took for the next Blog to load, I had read the first line. It was so striking that I hit the back button and read the entire post. Good stuff.
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