Eric Hamilton


Body Brail. - Poem by Eric Hamilton

the touch pressed
a few layers
from vital
organs
and raised question
of this frames durability,

like all in life
to pierce flesh
and test bone
density,

this and
that-
but these
are hopes-
like-hands

casting shadow-
puppets on
the skin-
like-paper-sack
that drapes
my guts,

I'm on my way
to the kind of old
that's only sexy
in a pile of dead-
presidents
printed on
greed-
green-leaf,

and putting
price-tags
on preference,

this is;
bang drums
in the basement
scream
your feelings
to the ceiling,

this is;
grease the stairs
'cause they'll come running,

this is;
nothing is safe
on paper
and more
nothing
ever is,

see,

this is;
note to self:
stop
touching
me(you.)

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Poem Edited: Tuesday, March 3, 2009


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