11 December 2010

two old poems

(we're talking 2008 old)::

-four weeks-
From somewhere deep inside
this is where it will all converge.
On yellowing paper
with a pen losing life
to a drying well of time.

Four weeks
That’s all I have.

When I close my eyes
this wall crumbles with no resistance.
I open them to see it still there
rough, looming
and lacking distance

Four weeks
I must knock it down

With 8 days of pleasure
come[s] 20 days of despair,
One deadline
and I’m left with a bruise on my head.
No need to explain

Four weeks
It’s dry and I’m here.

Sketches and no math skills
More paper…and then a ladder
To look over and see
what is the meaning behind it all.
There is you and I don’t understand.

Four weeks
This one ink blot…

-nine hour drive-
fading and shading
the deceptive in between.
a dividing yellow
teaching Morse code
tall shapes fall behind
covered in more general blues.
details become blobs
but I’m not regretting my decision
I’m eighteen minutes shy
of a nine-hour drive
and, oh, if the weather isn’t perfect.

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