In the shower
hot water
running all over
the back, neck
steam rising
softening tension
unblocking places
and suddenly:

I’ve felt frozen–
I think of my friend
who writes
in the bath
letting pages
get soaked
she dries them
on her radiator
blue ink bleeding
across pages.

This place has the best shower
of all the places–
the stream of hot
water the one thing
this house has
that’s really
the one thing
not broken.

At night
the birds remain quiet
hidden in nests
from street sounds
cats and dogs
at night
it’s mostly silent
except for
murmured pleasantries
between lovers.


This entry was published on 03.12.14 at 10:31 pm. It’s filed under automatic writing, creative writing, fiction, journal entry, literature, poetry, prose poetry, small stones, writing and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.


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