Seven hundred and three

On days like today when i’m feeling especially

low, my prozac like

seven hundred and three

teeny drones, struggles

with the weight of a

sodden wool blanket.

Exhausted and smelling of wet sheep, everything

tingles from the edge

like steam evaporating from tea. it is almost

easier to picture feeling

than to actually feel.

 

by Clementine Yost ©

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s