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Dickery
April 6, 2016
Sheer dickery
Don’t you know you make my skies
Turn grey?
With a touch to my lips, to shush me
And with your aphonic words you say
I’m sick of all this dickery
Who's leaving, who will stay
I’ll get my bags, I’ll bundle my clothes,
I’ll sway drunk out the doorway and onto the floor,
This emptiness within my heart grows,
But my pride grows more,
I don’t see invention with gears and shafts,
Steel wire and bulkheads, star screws and bolts,
I see organic gestures in the cold,
Pulse, vibrate, warmth, sway.
© Chris H., Honoka
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