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
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