The Day Becomes An Empty Road

There is nothing
round or full or happy
about the heart that forgets
where it lies.

It sits out of habit in soft, wet meat
held up by bones,
held in the sway of an old mind.

It is a tired thing.
It is a slow thing.

The day becomes an empty road disappeared to a point by the dark.

Comments

[Mandy]

"held up by bones,
held in the sway of an old mind."

Beautiful.

There needs to be a Shmoetry book. Between the photography & the poetry it would be awesome.

[sarah piazza]

"in the sway of an old mind"

i liked that phrase, too.

[Laurie]

I don't think mine is slow, could maybe benefit from that a little bit, but it sure is tired. Hm.

[Erika]

Nice.