The Wall

The Wall

Soles, alone, pound the organic trail

chores, voluntarily, assumed and done

for joy, for fun,

aches rise like

the thick humid damp

dragging limbs (and)

sagging minds.

Electric, in series, empowering the soul,

discharging, in parallel, head to toe



dying, alive

space hits out

a sudden silent thud

freezing the march

absorbing all sound.

by David Bugg (2009)

This entry was posted in 2009, by David Bugg, Poem. Bookmark the permalink.

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