338poem

October 8, 2011

People lose interest
when time piles atop distance.
A false sense of here pulls
your face blue & white
smoothly across a touchscreen
making the drag of fingers very real
up then down my spine—

Click here to turn autumn
into the scrape of spring
squinting the sky a blurry white.
Tuck the sheets into mattress
before a city pedal pulls you
beyond the length of me.

LOCATION: Lincoln, Nebraska – I’m not sure what the word ‘love’ means anymore.

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