Without My Glasses

night turns soft
as a leather strop

under the stars’ fuzzy lights
florescent incandescent

my surgery proceeds
with fewer instruments

train whistle
a black dog’s bark

a meteor’s incision takes
a second to heal

though the open heart
always misses its cage

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

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