Elastic Hours
Lick the potash with contempt
I'm made into
A silent frown of balled up yarn
and wood grain
My cold hands stretch these elastic hours
into days that pass
two at a time
I lie around
trying to make sentences and love myself
Contaminated by tinnitus
As expectant
as a dog wearing uncontained excitement
and let down when the sun sets without a bone
My own,
locked together with bailing wire
that work in vain to show how
much you mean to me
and ache,
because of all the fun we're missing.
poem by Sara Fielder
Added by Poetry Lover
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