Time-bound
my hands think without me
a tick will not talk
to his old red comrade
above the world a swan
is as much of the dead
as we know
Poems on the topic: hand
Poems on the topic “hand” on Poets.by.
Fake healer
time papers over our grief
our ways of getting by
who is seized and for a quarrel
cut all over the back
the servants they dally with
doing what hands will do
we must fall and everything else
go to sand
Limited
I know what I know
to be false
how things in the hand refuse us
gives me comfort
a thought should be worth
one wing
Touched
I have been touched in a coach
on a boat
in the street
how numb I am to it
that pernicious hand
the whore fit for no one
that he would have me be
Funeral procession
a corpse going to the grave
how everybody looks
going up and down
like a tress or vine
into the ash of hands
so weary so long
Cut rose
such troubled quiet
in a rose
how the held-up hands cry
what shall we do
I have given my life for nothing
to be flung down on a bed
Imposter’s syndrome
at a conference my paper
tricks a blind hand into rising
like a tick to see
how simply I bleed
Bean counter
work is her bark
unhappy for the future
her thin hand
like a rose full of winter
our queen of accounts
Hipsters
cold as our black clothes
our hands reckon and point
and all night my left
testicle aching
Widower’s song
she left behind
her road and her doors
her never sit down
her nothing her no
body
the discipline
of her religion
sober and drunk
her living hand
melancholy as a careless gun
her fear her truth
her contract with me
to make whole
Farmhand
pain in my hand
from struggling with doors in the dirt
how I hold it now
like a leased field
where oranges fall in the evening
and few venture upon them
Shameless
I get a prodigious kick out of shame
my own hands foul my fingers
let me suffer for it a little
let me make my own afternoon bed
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