Without
Sunday is dust
revolving
through slit curtains.
A blank page
bright as an ambulance
churning the humidity.
I've waited hours now
for the walls to recede,
for dusk.
For the windows
to go blind.
Discussion about this post
No posts
No posts
Your stories capture me from the first few words. Thank you for sharing your talent with us all.
This perfectly describes my mental state...