11.2.10

A Work In Regress by Cody Davis



















His leg jumps like a piston,
Igniting front row
anxieties and barium eyes,
pushing fossil fuel fumes up
through thick brown tubes
in a tangled mess
that fall on his forehead
and behind his lowering ears,
dripping lead beads
That blind him
And numb his lips.

His voice is touch and go,
Love and hope,
Picking up silver spoons
Burdened by small stones.

His thoughts flee from him,
scurrying with naked feet
Across concrete walls,
And silk blouses,
And cotton sheets. 

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