Whirligig 7

7 whirl

The sun rushes forth,
prodigal and full of longing.
I inhale cotton and exhale rain,
the whole world deadened to a smear.

My hands are like sandpaper
too coarse for drowning.
They pluck and scatter
crippled by their own identity.

If you listen hard enough
you can hear the gravel roar.
We find each other
in the strangest places
but never where it counts.

I treasure you,
a self-effacing scandal,
a grieving tide
displaced by wreckage.
We learn in failing.
I enter and exit the tavern alone.

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2 responses to “Whirligig 7

  1. “I inhale cotton and exhale rain” … YES!!! (This makes me think of a face against panties, breathing cotton, releasing saliva. :X I know; I’m hopeless.)

    That third stanza is really powerful.

    I feel like I already commented on all these poems. I wonder if my comments are in your spam folder, or if I only commented in my head … which is highly likely. 🙂

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