the air is getting warm and the sun is down but the fire is on and he thinks the thoughts a slow minute before speaking I have been wilting on a shelf for so long and a few moments more wont hurt I can see the leftovers making a new home in the refrigerator door and I have poured the last glass of wine Ive even counted the minutes until midnight and I see a sliver of a moon I have counted the number of bullets in the house there are willing hands at the end of these arms no matter how sore and you cannot taste the night sky until I have manufactured a way out of here and for once he sees into the eyes and sense of his past close ones who were somewhere just like this once and he is experiencing the view of a same time exactly as a mind must perceive it and the red sauce has all been gone and ate and only so many hours before it will all fade away --------story----------poem by j.beasley----
Posted on: Sat, 24 Jan 2015 09:23:44 +0000