The sun is a story that never gets old.

Lightning strobe, Walled in clouds,

tucked away above the horizon,

Erupts without sound.

 

Seawater laps behind me,

Crickets grind, —

Cold sweat imprints my back.

 

The telephone rings,

The entire block is stretched.

I run to hear three numbers.

 

Phantom words.

And I purge my dues.

World inside me trying.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s