poetry

Treatment

 

The box bent corners

around his face.

He slept in the plastic

wrap around

his cardboard arms.

 

A hand touched him

once, far away in the

Sky, the searing silver

coin burnt his eyes

to touch.

 

 

PhilosopherPoet

Advertisements
Standard

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 )

Twitter picture

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

Facebook photo

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

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s