A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature: over 400,000 monthly users
Give me a wash cloth and I will find a river to
Dip it in. I will bathe in memory and in loss.
Whenever the sky seems bluer than the river,
Remember, you only swim towards dirt.
I can’t tell you all the places I’ve been.
Memory holds less geography, more loss.
Here’s a wish for a young me…Don’t be so serious…
Swim in the communion cup. Curse in your prayers.
This poem might be less useful than a dirty joke.
There may be less wisdom, fewer good images.
I am afraid of all exit signs. Though I love any abandoned
Factory, house or ghost town. Almost every broken window.
An exit sign offers one way out. Just like the river.
A broken window might lead to an alley, to another dark room.
Copyright 2018 Mike James