the golden rule

fingers had commited
murder across the keys.
my blood turned jelly
and lodged itself
around phrases,words.
i was not certain
how i had gotten here:
to the chair,the radio….
it all seemed to be
waiting patiently.
the great hammer
was furious.
it had knocked imprints
into the seams of my
and padded swirls
along ten bottoms
rubbed away each letter,
one at a time.
i had been hungrey
for thee days.
and i thought too much
about the bad things,
the things that make
our backs hurt
and our muscles squeek.
the golden rule
was always the same:
never rush the last line.
copywrite:jeremy szuder


Leave a comment

Filed under poems

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s