it is the thing about suffering
the excuses of a friend’s gobbling
cheeks full with unknown currency
over the ankles in sand
this slow thaw to conscience
weathered, open to sky
every now and then
while dragging knees toward it
a glance of redeemed sunshine
clapping foreign discourse
where every shadow is anonymous
identical to the core
how our hearts chambers push
this sticky throbbing mess
tangential of one another
our abandoned other selves
arm out, waiting for the baton
Outlaw Poetry December 2018
Abandoned Soliloquies UnCollected Press MD USA 2019
James Walton Poetry 
Love this poem – great website.
Hope you are well.
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Thanks Hank. I remembered you were fond of that one, back on Outlaw. Looks good in the book! I’m well, waiting on a shot for Covid, we have very little of it here, so not too worried. How’s the back?
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