Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Can you imagine writing a poem in a soundless, white room?

Imagine reading that piece. Silently, of course.



Never could I imagine cooking with a palette of only one color. Without music.
My mouth would be swayed by my eyes. Happens sometimes with a poem, too. Pity.

1 comment:

  1. Blank is not so bad
    if the hill is snow
    or the room is dark
    and the full moon
    has been and gone

    Next morning the fire
    that once was
    is ash that is now
    lean traces
    of a good time

    Not so bad the blank stare
    if the eyes are still alive
    and last time's closing
    opened on a story
    you couldn't wait to tell

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