You are here
HOW LONELY YOU MUST BE OUT THERE
My Death
My little one
With your cup of silence
With your rattle
With your swaddling clothes
Sleeping in a rented room
Sucking a dry thumb
Turning away from the light
Your breath soft as a cobweb
I am always happy to feed you
A bowl of powdered glass
A stew of bright ashes
& a yawn Wide Bright Loud
As your ice pick thumb print on my eye
by John McKernan
