Sunday, September 5, 2010
Worn Bristles.
He doesn't rarely look me in the eye
the eye and as he hides
behind the curtain
brushing his
teeth
his teeth
still brushing his
teeth
for twenty minutes
that become
an hour of shuffling sounds
behind the yellow curtain
at the hotel
brushing still
brushing
with worn bristles
his teeth and
tapping the window
the window at the world
through the glass.
He keeps brushing his teeth.
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1 comment:
The more times I read this the more I like it. This is really good... and really him, almost like a portrait. The repetition gives the sense that this goes on and on, and it does, and it obscures him.
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