Guts and Crosswalk
Vantage:
the curb
and tide beside the curb
of soggy buds
and moist minds
spilled loose with thrust-
my innards {PRESSURIZE}
to rise me up, up, or down, down -
but I am no fish.
the boots I kick are
bloated,
chilled still and mostly water.
i peck the curb -
call out,
claw -
caw gray thoughts
of snowglobes.
i ask you please
that you scratch
at the base of my shoulderblade,
- that you scrape deep!
so ice showers slough off me
like
ancient skin.
Copyright © Andrew Gallagher | Year Posted 2009
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