one more thing strapped to my back i have loosened
searching for pockets to shift its weight
i never learn all that’s been collected
is just one more thing someone forgets
i deserve to be weightless
hollow boned, less structure, more space
what’s it like to wake careless, what’s it like to wake knowing,
another seed i thought flower turned to vine
a voiceless thought friend becomes stranger
lover’s dedication two-times
it’s just one more thing until you break
i deserve to be without a heart
absent mouthed, less fractured, more whole
what’s it like to sleep stressless,
what’s it like to sleep downwind,
of everything that’s put down
i can’t ever be collected
a house with a roof is a home is a lie;
my shed skin its own ecology
my knots they mar this floor
and language in backward draft
escapes beneath the doors.
‘DEAD BIRD’ RELEASES OCTOBER 15!
Poetry served raw and unedited from the moment crafted.
The large majority of my poetry handcrafted from inside bars.
'From My Front Steps,' 'Scotch and Scars' and 'A Distilled Spirit' poetry collections available in paperback and ebook on Amazon.
www.etsy.com/shop/JosephPinto