i sleep on is hard.
no comfort under my bones,
just a thin cover
separates belly from wood.
on warm surfaces,
feeling the house talk
as darkness settles in.
i rest very well
there is no place left
This entry was posted on May 11, 2011 at 5:37 am and is filed under Lynne Hayes with tags poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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Brilliant stuff, Lynne.
this is how I feel today. how perfect.
to the bone, bare & bleak but somehow you feel inner strength from the narrator.
love this one by lynne.
Thanks for reading and thank you Scot for the inclusion here @ the Grand Rusty Truck!!
my pleasure lynne
This is wonderful!
Thank you Hank!!
I think it read it too literally as I sleep on camping mats on the floor – and really enjoy it. My minimalist side 😉
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