The Punctures We Swallow

The Punctures We Swallow Gary J. Shipley Inside was a queasy descent, Voices chipping at the face I was given. There were intervals of vodka. Perhaps they were holes to sleep in. We bruise because it sounds like us And so goes the sludge of together. You're a posture of occupation. Some sideshow of injections this. At the acquittal I'll postpone my hairline And find my nutrients in pain relief. Most of this suffering is optimistic And I can't even feel the stuff that isn't. I know when the time comes the soil won't fit. 1996 © 2011