Skip to content

the herd

December 2, 2015

  
There are pockets behind your eyes where sorrow swings until the wine is drunk, until silence wakes you to the accumulation of dreams you’ve been sleeping through 

rushes like a herd of cattle – how long has it been since you practiced singing to them – bottomed out by the echo of their hooves from the other end of that sterile plain 

no breastbone to hide behind so reach deep into those pockets where everything you witness but never feel goes 

to wait, to rescue you.

Advertisements

From → Uncategorized

Leave a Comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: