Blackout
October Breakwater
October is a breakwater you step onto, slick stone and salt breath rising from the Atlantic’s throat. The air tastes like cold pine and the ghosts of summer bonfires. The tide pulls back, revealing the long ribs of the sandbar— a road the ocean only allows for part of the day.
By Syl De'Vilabout 23 hours ago in Poets
Just Minutes Before
And maybe I’m reading into it, I tell myself it’s burnt a little then eat it anyway ‘cause I’m hungry. If I knew all the words for touching my hands would be free for feeling, touching all the words I can't reveal, my hands would be free of feeling. But here I am on the top step feeling, topless, feeling speechless feeling numb feeling, topless feeling—folded over feeling sun feeling my head hoovering— folded over no feelings feeling no words feeling my head hovering inches above the concrete feeling no feeling.
By Gerry Thibeault3 days ago in Poets
