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brianprince
Poems
Feb 2017
sans
never realized how much
music i made until
she was gone.
the snare on the
table.
the cling on the
railing.
against my phone
nervous twitch.
clicking the clip
on
black pen.
the drop in
left pocket.
snare. snap.
boom. bip.
shuffle. tap.
slip of lips.
synchronizing a
new chorus.
now
the hits are hollow.
the verse empty.
sans ring.
thump.
Previously published at **** Poet / Issue 7 — July 15, 2009
Written by
brianprince
California
(California)
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