Unearthing Slivers

this is kind-of a found poem. I have no idea when I wrote this, but found it in an old piggy bank folded up. 

he walked around
like a sallow
working class shadow
his cheekbones carved
from amber stone
fisting rocks in black
coat pockets
and shoulders hunched
to sprout clipped wings
on his back, its own
urban landscape
speaking for his setting sun

his eyes shift like
thread in search of a needle
redundant or moist
his enmity casting shadows
like oil spills
on a summer day

I paint black pictures in my mind
a subconscious Rorschach
blotting images of these
broken-hearted boys
chipping gravel off of
city streets in their lonely
boyish shuffles

Author: Erica V.

Always seriously joking and rambunctiously soft-spoken.

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