The Great Dig


with the immaculate ease

of wordless existence,

I've applied

my own disease..

and now..

a cancer found

within the would be answers

to my self inflicted


I had the sky once

in my palm.

squeezed it tight

until it bled the blue

right through my knuckles..

out of sight...

and with a half-hearted

desperate chuckle

I spread fingers out

to find

nothing but

the whitened shades

of bare peach --

    an empty hand

    knows of nothing but the empty air it tries to grab.

but what if I stop reaching?

put hands

in pockets.

what if I stop breaching

the world for a loving premonition

and place knuckles around my antique locket --

clasp the gold

so cold

and wait for a memory

to unfold

the future for me --

    like incarcerated fingernails

    I grow only as wide as my

    extremities entail

    but scratch nickel plated surfaces

    to see where it sounds sufficiently frail.

and now I will dig...

with broken joints

I will dig...

View grahf's Full Portfolio