Road Dreams

Go to sleep sweet one.
Forget the road paint and poetry
for now.

Colours are turning into shapes.
Dream of pink,
the color that drips down the walls
of the hall you will
be seen in.

You will be seen.
In time the clock will grow
softer. Your stomach ache
has to end some day.
Stop asking questions you
couldn’t handle the answers to.

I swallow the dark.
I am colour and shape.
The beets bled on my hands
while I was washing them.

I wash
the old skin
off.

And in such sleep
what do you hope in?
The pink planks
nailed around trees

while weeds shoot up
through concrete.

Go to sleep before
the answers eat the questions.

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About amyleighcutler

Writer, dancer, vagabond extraordinaire
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

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