Expanded on some twitter micropoetry, expressing the experience of working in a dingy nursing home.
The Home
Florid sacks
Of fluid
We slosh around all these
Ghosts burning in our guts;
We give them
Names
Dribbling, moaning
They fester their last hour
Slumped, twitching
Against the dusty blue dusk
Of a tiled hall
Hugging their jumbled
Cold gray bones
We close our eyes
Contemporary poetry and fiction. Art. Photography. Reviews. My journey as an aspiring author. DIY and Indie all the way. Beauty and rebirth in the shadows.
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