unfinished (littering in the premature)

11/12/05

dull thud to the back of the head
is what it left me feeling
covered in the stale notes of rust and gasoline –
knees scraped on steel just healed from
a tumble to the ground
as all this came slowly
to a halt.

but I lacked the strength to grab the box and haul
myself back to the bed
even though it was a short way up and a long way out
to where the end lay
like an afterthought in the dying afternoon,
an old sister mottled and forgotten