wish you knew where i
wuz
wish you know where i
iz
wish you could look
at this
i fit the world in my
fist
wish you know where i
been
gotta pocket fulla rocks
gotta drawer fulla socks
gotta sun fulla spots
gotta lotta fuckin’ thoughts
hands
the nape of your neck
poetrymy hands
are a boat
which sets sail
along the coastline
of your skin tracing
the contours of
every grain of
sand holding fast
against the welling
and swelling of the sea
coming to safe harbor
at the nape of your neck.
the sieve and the sand 