Thursday, January 29, 2009

Six Ways of Looking at Hands

Holding your head up
as the droning eases its way
into your ears.
These lessons don't tell you
anything you want to hear.

Clasped together in your lap;
your leg shakes the chair rhythmically.
Fears wash over you
and you pray the lines don't flatten.

Shoved in tight pockets of trousers,
and the trains roll by.
The stuffy scent of underground life
is enough to constrict anyone.

Moving along keys, strings, everything.
The music echoing from the instrument
silences the people.

Placed still on her thigh.
Keeping this moment
forever
is your goal.

Ink dried onto fingertips
at birth,
Showing how different
we truly are.

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