pillow_talk
raze
my
left
ear
grazes
the
discoloured cotton casing
that
covers
the
cushion
that
cradles
my
head
,
its
pigment
betrayed
by
a
river
of
spit
,
and
i
hear
a
voice
that
isn't
mine
whisper
, "
i
can't
wait
to
get
home
."
220819
...
ovenbird
My
pillow
couldn’t
wait
to
get
home
either
. Alas,
in
a
tragic
turn
of
events,
it
was
left
behind
in
a
cabin
near
the
Jordan
River
.
We
had
a
couple
really
good
years
together
.
It
held
the
weight
of
my
dark
dreams
and
never
complained.
It
held
my
spine
in
alignment
and
let
me
wake
without
neck
pain
.
It
spoke
to
me
only
in
a
language
of
comfort
.
And
I
betrayed
it
.
It
was
buried
in
a
pile
of
pillows
upon
the
bed
and
it
couldn’t
cry
out
to
signal
its
presence
when
I
left
and
I
will
never
lay
my
head
in
its
contoured
hands
again
.
Mostly
I
’m
mad
at
myself
for
being
forgetful.
A
pillow
as
faithful
as
that
one
deserved
a
better
end
.
Maybe
it
will
become
a
resting
place
for
other
worry
laden skulls
passing
through
.
Or
maybe
it
will
end
up
in
the
river
,
a
raft
of
memory
foam,
floating
into
obscurity.
250711
what's it to you?
who
go
blather
from
