Elevators and Spines

I want nothing more
Than to write myself whole;
To pick up the pieces
Slipping through my fingers
Into the cracks of our sidewalk.
That place
Where I once tread carefully
To avoid breaking the backs
Of those
Who made elevators out of my spine.


About Z.

Poetic pipe and cigar enthusiast rifling through the haunted memories of a not so distant past while openly wrestling with faith and God. A rambling writer with the misguided notion that he has something to say. His only redeeming qualities are his wife and children.
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