Frigid bike
Ride away stillborn eyes
Legs yearn to touch ground they ache
After a night
Of tossing and hard dreams
Huddled with the elder apes
Fists coiled in their bellies
Or clutching bowls of bean mud billowing steam
In complaint
Slip into the area behind sleep in front
Speech erupts: I'm not here, really, how is
This happening
Without me?
How is this a found poem?
ReplyDelete