Hot Ghost

i’m always standing in
the hot ghost of your car
poets blood
cold in my fingers.
Crucifix me a drink while
you’re inside my mind:
the esky of our empathy —
Its blue fingerprint plastic
fading in warmer years
in rusted lifetimes
of caring
in weeks
of love
in seconds
of understanding
the scholars of Sunday Afternoon.
i was good at this once:
shaking your revolution lego.
but now i’ve
faded completely underneath
your planet
and been replaced by
with wrapping paper.
i am:
your lost phone
your wasted Monday,
something you can do
with your bones —

Laundry Man (Western Australia)

A version of this poem was exhibited at The University of Western Australia for Trove's Poems on Posters project.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Now that Uneven Floor has retired from active publication, no new comments are possible — sorry. You're welcome to share the poem on social media and comment there.

Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment.