Poem #9

I pat my pockets of empty memory as 
I pace an unfamiliar place, a door,
do I enter now? A room full of 
strangers eating, laughing and I know
this isn’t real but it’s my unreal-ness,
to claim in each inhale and exhale,
shifting on the pillow I remember 
that to persevere through the sludge 
of technical misgivings is bold. And soon 
enough the soft sounds of traffic and a 
dark sky stir my hunger for a new day.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com 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

%d bloggers like this: