Moving Man

you are the skeleton
key–rusted, dangling
from a nail I pounded
into a wooden frame

I packed most of my stuff
and abandoned that house
for a cozier place
the heart of a new state

no violence or arson
just smiles and unlocked doors
and as I count the stars
cold earth kisses my spine

By Mark Morgan

Biography:

Mark Morgan, Jr. writes poetry for An Autumn Road, his poetry blog located at http://anautumnroad.tumblr.com. A native of Detroit, he is currently working toward a bachelor of science in secondary education.