Growing Shift

frantic, midst a flash
of blind panic,

clutching for shadows
in sheets,

i feel my insides
hum her warmth through
gaps in rust

and notice each stipple in pattern
splattered across my
cave ceiling,

each dot’s a
car’s frozen skeleton
on heaven’s

and these hands over
my heart are
too stiff

to wave them
‘good day’


though i wave anyway
through comas and all day,
yet no body moves,
so nothing

except distance growing
between rock bottom
and the cliff.

Grumpy Gorman

be kind to others during the growing pains… thanks for reading.

4 thoughts on “Growing Shift

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