sandstone, wearing it into dust. The ochre dust in the arroyo is curtaining, wind
pull the sheets up round my neck,
I have the eastern sparrow
the sag in the jawline, the reddened ears, the haircut undertaken
to clutch and lick.
Right away I suck it up,
the dark brown iodine bottle, and purple mercurochrome.
Another poem like this?
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2007-2012 - Ray Henry