On having a cold

Quiet birds circle my head.
A red bar of sound
Mars my inner ears, silver
Is all revolving around doors
Mucousy and stiff of sandpaper.
My legs say go, and my head
Floats half a mile in white
Behind.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s