Sunday, March 01, 2009


I can see my breath.
No windows.

Everything not moving
is painted white. Here,

in your mother's basement,
I lie back on the bed

tucked under silver ducts,
offering the whole mottled

bag of me on these
delicately stained sheets,
bleached and bleached.


Billy said...

outside is bleached today. powerful stuff.

greg rappleye said...

Oh yes.

Good one!