at 3.

solid and
sitting on a shelf,
with marionette hands.
nah man,
the puppeteer
don't really come around here
no more.

I think I got a glitch in my bloodstream,
mama I ain't what I used to be.
there's something caught behind my eye,
I see you every time I shut up tight.
my accordian self in and out
flicker forward.
find you in my littlest spaces
my hide out places,
I hug my knees and
I stop to breathe
I stop to
I stop to
count the clock
backwards,
find myself at 3.

Reviews

[David Morley]

Littlest places, hideout spaces

It's rare that I find a poem that resonates with me the way this does. I can't even say anything.

Perfezionare.