The Block '06
The numbing sound,
Of the slowing cogs.
The box,
The cell,
The sentence.
With more or less,
Than what I’d had.
No memories to display.
No forward thought to process.
Position like fetus,
With head tucked to breast.
My loving stare,
His awkward glare.
He knows we’ve lost it all.
Copyright © Naomi Jenkins | Year Posted 2008
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