Bound for Glory
My lungs are echoed in black
the way the sky is patched blue
come afternoon
I am hanging
from the splinters of my tongue
in the open-eye instant of reckoning
where everything is equal
and the head splitting
reminds me of the hot bottle of fire
with which we doused the night—dancing wildly in a room full of sick tables—
shouting out that we were bound for glory
or a slow train to the heart of the bottom.
David Ross Linklater was born in the Highlands of Scotland and now lives in Glasgow. Last year he achieved an HNC in Professional Writing at City of Glasgow College and is now studying Journalism. You can follow him on Twitter @DavidRossLinkla