1:25 (I Saw the Rake)

I saw the rake,
and the eaves,
dripping
water,
pink,
onto copper,
today,
the same color
of that bra she wore,
underneath
the tank top,
my glass tipped,
teeth out,
promptly returned
cancerous,
smiled and forgot
my name
too,
the bearings
my heart,
outer race
divided,
balls flying,
everywhere,
and the burning
smell

 
 
 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Nicholas Schillaci is a cabinetmaker from Boston. Nick holds a BFA in Sculpture from Massachusetts College of Art and Design. This poem is observational, experiential, stream of consciousness. It’s a statement on desensitization. It’s working through things by giving up control. It’s emergence.

 
 

OTHERS ARE READING…

Shoulder Me

By John Jay Speredakos / 2018-04-30

The Bullring

By David Joseph / 2018-04-26

Via Dolorosa

By Laura Chavez Silverman / 2018-05-02

Laundry Day

By Natalie Steenbergh / 2018-04-30

Mr. Peregrine

By Debbie Robson / 2018-05-20