Seams

I burn like a winter rain that blossoms in the fire of headlight-lit water. Emboss me with jewels of a Gatorade commercial dissembled: seams bloodily unsewn. The many windows of the train station are fragrant with the dense sensual darkness of a coat closet. I hear them sound and resound, the alarm clock ocean of time unattained.

Elijah Giuliano. Suburbs, suburbs, no donkeys.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Seams

  1. L.K. Latham says:

    I was confused until I saw the line about suburbs. Then it all clicked.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.