Tokens

19 April 2013 § 2 Comments

Today I drive
Fast enough to make
The air a vacuum
Or ghost fingers reach down to
Steal breath. I thought

The radio would be just what I needed,
But someone is pressing
Pressing the accelerator,
Thieving sound and
All I’ve heard is the rush
Of my own ears. I find myself

Taking a razor to each individual
Hair tangling with the wind.
I will feed the cyclones
Silken strands
Each slice a small tribute.
When I am
Cold, bald and smooth,

I will give you all these tokens
Of my former self.

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§ 2 Responses to Tokens

  • slpmartin says:

    Such deep sadness at the end of the poem…few persons in life are worthy of such a token.

  • ryan stanton says:

    This might not have been the intention, but this reminded me of the charity “locks of love” for cancer victims in need of wigs. which is an amazing charity by the way

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