glue

across the ground under the bridge
by the pub
on the corner
trains run on tracks
from here to miles over there a blank stare induced

by a lack of sleep
dead on your feet
nonphased in a daze
the crumpled face of the book in your bag
it is its cage
until you get to the final page
and you conclude
to conclude
you forgot the ruse
the magic cube
the stick of glue
that sticks it all together.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s