james h duncan

 

 

Against the skin


there is a pacing behind the wall
where her baby-blue silk bathrobe sways
in tune with the furnace heat pulsation
the steps rhythmical against the pine wood floors

there are always options, but
beyond our limbs that sidle and shave,
we donít have the ability to change

the wall between us groans as December
settles all around, exhausted white oblivion
the razor works against the skin pauses
as the pacing shifts into the broken hall
where silence overtakes every failing moment

there is a clock somewhere in this house
but like the faucet, like this heart, like the winter clouds
that shade the frozen moon,
some things stopped long before they ever began


James H Duncan is a New York native and the editor of Hobo Camp Review. Being a lifelong student of the road, youíll find him picking up non-credit courses in local dive bars, all-night cafes, and at train station platforms minding his own damn business. He is currently engaged to his Royal Quiet Deluxe typewriter, but admits to ravenous affairs with various bottles of wine on the side. Apt, Zygote In My Coffee, Red Fez, Reed Magazine, and The Battered Suitcase, among others, have welcomed his poetry and fiction. More at http://jameshduncan.blogspot.com

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