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Kongsaeng Chris Everson
Poems
May 2010
A FOG IN THE TIRED EYES
Staring at a carpet,
he submits the mind
to a haze. She stands
up and counts by twos.
Why do we see a turning?
Almost time to pack up,
he waits for a certain
impulse. The blue car
with a flag for some
sticker is cold and
happy. Instead of a
clock, he uses the
broken fog to direct
his worthless trip
to that tired store.
Free poem by Chris Everson - 2001
Written by
Kongsaeng Chris Everson
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