Cactus Thorns

trains are running
between me and others
without any halt allowed
ghost ships are sailing
in a tall cactus desert

a gaolbird’s chains
get rusty in my palm
right before sunset I’m like an old brick
slowly eroded

I get out from my house onto the main road
I stand up
near the watchmaker’s shop
still undemolished
crying without a handkerchief
out of fashion accessory
hardly breathing in my corset
made of unanswered questions

could this be November
or March?

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Categories: My Poems in 2012 | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

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