“Now that we’re alone we can talk prince man to man” -Zbigniew Herbert

i got up early this morning, i’d thrown the covers and caught a chill. found two poems slidin’ about.

My crooked hands shake
something unreasonable.

I can see them
roasting on glowing coals.

I don’t take them out.
I am always cold.
I am always letting off everything

like a pan of water
on a stove
without a lid.

I escape almost silently.

and then this one. i been havin’ walkin’ dreams, i wake with sore feet, though i didn’t go anywhere. four white walls often leave me feelin’ contained, that’s when i dream on walkin’. today it rained and that settled my soul a bit. i pressed my hands out the windows and washed my face. pretty sure i look the same.

A rocky walk takes me from the city.
At my back it’s only you and me, beast.
Helpless you shudder still under winter’s thumbprint.
Your guilt is contagious burn.
But I do laugh at the coincidence.

after breakfast i walked in the rain till my shoes got heavy and plopped off. still i feel on fire, my face and hands and back feel flushed. still i wonder when this fever will break?

“and that water these words what can they do what can they do prince”