My brain is in a cement mixer that rolls and grinds, stops at intervals to regurgitate small pieces of my mind. They churn into driveways and sidewalks and even concrete chickens and lawn benches.
I am the concrete chicken, my lips forever closed. I cannot cluck or cheep or cackle. I sit in a concrete garden, watch as cars roll past and wait for someone to take me home.
© 2012 cj Schlottman
2 comments:
Sounds like your lips are a little more open than you think...
Some gritty, cool, and interesting images here.
Oh yeah. I could feel this one.
I could feel so much in common with you as you wrote. I love reading it and I love you.
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