Monday 2/08/2010 12:04:00 AM

The wet door at her back. Heavy and undecided. The glue under her fingernails contemplating. Which ends to connect. It's only forever she sighs. Not very long at all. When you want something.

Everyday is. The choice between sunburn and stitches. It hurts to move. It hurts just as much to sit still.

The window she keeps open to the cold remarks at her obstinance. It's winter the window says. I should be closed.

I prefer to feel the cold she tells it. It's always there. I hate pretending I don't feel it.

Endless winters lost in the earth. Teach me to keep digging, but not for what I should search. The chill poses its riddles and waits for my guess. I answer its warm someplace. I don't need to be there to know this.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2024. All Rights Reserved.