DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, July writes._.


prisoner am I
on the walls looking for who am I
in the shiver of the tea
the past steals of that sea
the invisible scratches on my back
the ones that scratch a roof to sleep painted black
all them those of the stacked shelves in handy
couldn't leave a page not a blank of the empty
does it rain in summer still?
because it's getting dusty on that exiled mountain hill
poems stale
the clock speaks in brail
blood trickles the nails
& the bitting has the audacity to fail
my toes to the feet demand a detach
not a new thing like a tree & its branch

                                                         ­                 ------ravenfeels