A Man Crying or StonesA Poem by Leslie Philibert
A poem about me.
He cannot cry with conviction.
He turns towards walls or hides behind newspapers,
or wipes his face as if sweating.
Empty before hospitals or as brittle
as a cake man at a funeral.
Stones without amber, only tar.
Stones that ringless and skimless
plop into the ebb.
The frozen bells of the sea.
Nightly under neon he scribbles
on the edges of newspapers.
He faces the debris of a breakfast table.
He will parcel his sorrow.
He will make his apologies and leave.
© 2012 Leslie Philibert
Shelved in 1 LibraryAdded on January 20, 2012
Last Updated on February 4, 2012
AboutI`m not important. I just want to write a couple of good poems. Just read what I write. That`s enough. more..
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