Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
curled up down the end of the bed where loose feet hang, comfort purrs, doused, incontent. easy game. so i sleep a little more: outside, everything will churn continually in cyclic tone, oil-slick, patterns always look the same. further out, little is left but the low rush of breaking wavelets over shallowing stone retainer walls kept, keeping the weight of this inestimable machine on track. breathe stale air, smile, the skyline accumulates; handfuls of grey at a time.
0
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 7:57 PM UTC
six
curled up down the end of the bed where loose feet hang, comfort purrs, doused, incontent. easy game. so i sleep a little more: outside, everything will churn continually in cyclic tone, oil-slick, patterns always look the same. further out, little is left but the low rush of breaking wavelets over shallowing stone retainer walls kept, keeping the weight of this inestimable machine on track. breathe stale air, smile, the skyline accumulates; handfuls of grey at a time.
tom-mccone
Written by
New Zealander
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 7:57 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem