Saturday, July 26, 2008

White Space I


Make a poem/unmake a poem
sometimes the words flow
others ice dams
jamming the drop
and the page below
remains lucidly clear
uncluttered
the page remains
tranquil/white
troubled only by the shadow
of the maker's empty soul.
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White Space II

Breath/apostrophe/unconscious
Breath
Apostrophe
Unconscious
to focus is to fear
to focus is to fall---
when the word comes
cold hands cover the mouth
the word is the enemy
the when/the where/the how
what you don’t hear didn't happen and
tragedy bypasses the deaf
it lurks in dark corners
waiting to crush the unsuspecting
a word and a whistle
unheeded/life proceeds
Unconscious of function
Unconscious of the inrush of air
word ceases and
tragedy bypasses the deaf
Breath/Apostrophe/Unconscious
Breath/apostrophe/unconscious
Breath
Apostrophe
Unconscious

1 comment:

Kevin said...
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