A Story in My Pocket.

The prize strung ahead of the nose,

when you catch the undertow,

and then quite suddenly,

wood is whittling,

reality is spinning,

the line between is thinning,

and all you can really perceive,

through your constant scrutiny,

is the cause of this heavy feeling ;

through the flaws of space and time,

you vaguely make out this form of mine,

balanced on scales made of porcelain,

ankles broken,

eyes wide open,

you shouldered my weight a while,

you ordered the return of my smile,

splinted my legs and marched me away,

you slipped a story into my pocket,

and it started and ended with truth.



2 thoughts on “A Story in My Pocket.

  1. well written. a very nice read 😊


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