the cannon or
could it be my time here
is spent? My left hand is shot
I know that for sure
but I keep firing off footsteps
despite the abnormal gait I keep
patting the back
of an inconsolable baby.
Her cries shrill each cell
of my body
into string beans.
The grind of teeth in the dark
bed beside you
are two rocks rubbing
themselves into particles
of themselves.
Craggy faces smoothed out
featherdusted until featureless.
~*~
Cameron Morse holds an MFA from the University of Kansas City-Missouri and lives in Independence, Missouri, with his wife and three children. He is the author of ten collections of poetry and serves as Senior Reviews editor at Harbor Review and a reader at Small Harbor Publishing. His first collection, Fall Risk, won Glass Lyre Press’s 2018 Best Book Award.
Visit his website here: https://cameronmorsepoems.wordpress.com/
No comments:
Post a Comment