Poem 1982 (8)

Skull-floor

 

Down in the brain-dark
word-dark
down on that skull-floor
where verses are threshed
and bilious bubbles
shape in some sludge
of old dead hopes
there I’ve had to make a home.
Down in the word-dark
where I hear you
who are above this floor
don’t think I can’t feel
your footsteps
on my skull.

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