Thursday, 29 November 2012


She’s blank.
Grey stone stuck on paper.
Tools, here and there, strike.
Loose grains of sand so scarce,
Drowning in a white river
Disappear instantly.
Blank canvas, blank novel, blank sound
Bleed into a single screech
Of flats and sharps
Making the air heavy and
Rotting desk sinks
As hands fall to the floor.

No comments:

Post a Comment