Jean Smith
Hand rails have grown spikes
After
is ahead of us
crouched
running through the trees
words
are pulled from my throat
they coil at my feet
the desk handling admissions
is on an almost frozen lake
broken flowers
on the ceiling
plaster petals
on the floor
laundry
hangs
forever wet
the streets are paved with soap
is ahead of us
crouched
running through the trees
words
are pulled from my throat
they coil at my feet
the desk handling admissions
is on an almost frozen lake
broken flowers
on the ceiling
plaster petals
on the floor
laundry
hangs
forever wet
the streets are paved with soap
Page(s) 8
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