Litkicks Message Board Archive


Posted to Action Poetry

we are fed,
fed with an
early morning
that amplifies the
quiet street,

fed with a walking
light that follows
me home, that coats
the world in glass

makes me pay to get in
to watch the faces
and spend my waking
breaths looking for the
window seat or those stars

that fell in the river
that night when we sat
with our wine and our
our warm flesh
on the soft rug of night