Posted in Poetry

‘Dirt’ – Inspired by Dawn Kurtagich’s ‘The Creeper Man’

What am I?
A small fissure? A crack
in the floorboards, a knot-hole
expanding into a yawning gap.

This is my life in dirt.
Disturbed topsoil,
agitated ash. And I dig deep
to find nothing but desperate sighs.

I see it in him too. Blurring the edges;
the boy with fruit in his pockets
and apples in his eyes.
He wants me to stay visible.

Is this the last time I shall write this?
He is coming, not the boy, the man,
even though he’s got his pound of flesh
(rolls it with a sickening stickiness
along the grooves in my fractured forehead)

he wants more. Creeper.
His fingers in my throat and I can’t eat.
I gag. And wait for remembrance.

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YA writer. Epic reader. Professional procrastinator.

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