richard pierce

richard pierce

25 July 2015


I am a man of sand.
All about me is constructed and mechanical
My automatic brain tells me
Until I wake and can’t move
For the tiredness in every cell
For the heaviness in this artificial flesh,
The shapelessness of shifting grains.

I am a man of sand and straw
And the wind blows me to
Wherever it is I don’t want to be.

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