Too Much Like Alone.... Poem by Eric Cockrell
Too Much Like Alone....
holy infidels laying stone
for the pathway to the intimate...
stopping to smoke, a cup of coffee,
maybe a shot to break the chill...
books are only people
waiting to be set free from the shelf...
people are only spider's webs,
catching tiny fragments of light.
and this body a tired prayer,
spoken by lips both bruised and shaken.
my hand smells too much like alone,
but my feet know the way home!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 11:57:03 PM # 1.0.0.1119
