On a Long Fall to Love

Crumpled up into cotton balls, the city’s sounds
Quiver like cooked meat in the bedside trash can.
The stab of silence, the sweet pain of silence’s bite.

When silence often calls from afar in the dead of nights
Or through the din of the day, the cotton balls just give in
To the harpoon’s thrust and the line’s tense smart,
And the poor cripple leaps off the exploding window
On a long fall to love, a bodily answer to love’s call.


Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

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

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ 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 )


Connecting to %s