Smashing

This worn Samsonite will not be savored
by guérillas in moonlight.
A week of lit ferns
took a pinch of kosher salt
to make a comfortable nest before the break
(in which a tomb-like quiet descended,
calming but for the most irascible eggs).
Carrying on without a handle
as best as I can with nary a hook or pincher,
I decry grey twill and welcome post-rage
somersaults as I add layer upon layer
of raw sugar (in-leaf), begging for
reprieve even as my legs push past
the buckle of freedom,
a little smashed but warm like carnival dirt.

Advertisements

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 )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s