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window washing
by Corey Lockabyempty motion; i'm going through
the graces of defeat
what am i supposed to do? cantabile voices
slide into my head and ask me this
what am i supposed to do?
how old is this number, how many defeats added to it?
i scrape the hair off my skin and move on
i'm startled by the smallest things
it's the same as knowing that the worst day will be had tomorrow
and the next and the next and the next
it's someone's
it's someone's its
a blue pane of glass that i'm scrubbing
delicately in the cold january frost
there's a crack in it, but the crack is so old
that there is dust and wood-smoke gluing it together
(and bad dreams trying to make their solitary ways in)
and so i move to the next sheet of thin old glass
hoping to find the crack
that caught my mind, my body
and held it fast against the brief stirrings of wind
that once passed through your hair unabated. 01/21/2007 Posted on 01/22/2007
Copyright © 2025 Corey Lockaby
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 01/22/07 at 03:34 PM You really kick some ass with this style, man. Most of all, in the third and fourth stanzas. Couple it with some great language, and you've got some good writing, man. |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 01/22/07 at 04:28 PM Great metaphor using window washing. I like many lines here - the hesitation created by the "it's someones it's someones it's", love the line "how old is this number". I like the blue colored pane of glass giving this even a colder feel in January, and the movement from one pane to the next. Nice piece. |
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