Gague

To scratch my skin
stum­bling home alone along night long
paths worn thin by shadows.

 

To beat my fore­arms backward

agaist yellow-paint brick-walled
houses in the morrow.

 

Graze, gaze, regague.

 

To look for lice and rats
along the coal-dusted-hyperdermic train tracks
under drizzled skies.

 

To stare out beside
con­crete switch ties, jumped fences
and tired eyes.

 

To stub toes in junk water drains
search­ing for the sky and boys and
tadpoles.

 

Re-engage.

 

To look up
days or maybe only minutes later
to blue skies of the soul.

 

- New­castle 2010

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