Let’s Get Out of Here
The river is a fish and my tongue is white paper you draw your hand on and the sounds keys make on the waist of a janitor in an empty building on the night of your birth when the moon was a live bird pinned to a girl’s chest and the color of a beat-up door that hides a paint chipped life where we lick the throats of passing trains and wear bright pills over our faces like ghost masks and move the tiny ghosts that live in us like dominos.
Copyright @ 2014 by Corey Zeller. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-a-Day on May 9, 2014.