Saturday, March 16, 2019

chester giles writes

split shift

i drank the shadows in the park during my lunch break
   my knuckles raw
and bleeding now and then

old men waiting on the soggy benches
 with the slats dropped out
like perverts wearing coarse nylon static,
scratching their brittle bones the same as wet electrics sparking
like strip lights in dank cellars

the blood on the back of my hand
dried around the sore and cracks,
and all those translucent shadows
 between the railings
   the stones
 and the branches.

I sat there just breathing

gallery photo
Old Men on bench -- James Coates

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