Some days are sticky. glued to this or that. stuck in my head.
Tacky ideas, hands
Touching only what has already been touched. What is already sticky Self-contained, transferred. Only to or from itself.
A daunting escape awaits. Friction. Sand. Time will crumble away the substance of despair.
A constant motion of different angles, repeated action will bring relief only way out is through.
About the Creator
Aaron Hodgkins
I shook my brain and out came 214 little hairballs of thought.
Contemporary poetry by
Aaron Hodgkins
aaron m hodgkins
amhodgkins
a.m.hodgkins
aaronhodgkins
Keep reading
More stories from Aaron Hodgkins and writers in Poets and other communities.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.