landmine

Sitting on a landmine
of exhaustion
waiting for the quiet
explosion.

It’s like never wanting
to move again
never daring
to breathe for fear
of not unfolding
from the breath.

A glass of whisky
slips away
the effort of thought
soft fade.

Muscles strain to hold
these fingers
held by hands
in scraping scraps
of scribblings
from random truths.

Tiny dreams
of ruins leave me sallow
fallow ground
where no steps impose
from which no sound evolves.

Straying from survival
bound in knots and whispers.

©lesservoice2009