 |
| Contemplation No. 10, Sep. 23, 2012 |
Under lampshade,
Brought over from the weltering high waters of rest.
Standing beneath the drips from the stairwell,
I withdrew the pendulum,
Flipped the phantom atop its tumbling head.
Lackluster low-tide,
Born inside the nebulous sound of chords crashing.
A penchant for despair: drafts of the will,
Sitting in piles, the wood shavings,
The pocket knife scratching pencils to a point.
No comments:
Post a Comment