Yesterday, I chewed the covers for the novel
For my imaginary novel like crackers
For my imaginary novel like crackers
While watching the moths splash against the siding
I can almost see through the worn paper, coverless,
Pages foxed soft, denned on the shelf
Sleeping.
I won't write it at the coffee shop that has closed,
Ideas flashing clear as the windows, dark as unlaid ink.
When I started to watch for the new edges
Curling against the emptiness where the future
Always fails, its jetpacks and fins sharp in the dark,
They weren't words anymore. They were seeds,
Maybe...dustcloths, boxes.
Reading.
When I started to watch for the new edges
Curling against the emptiness where the future
Always fails, its jetpacks and fins sharp in the dark,
They weren't words anymore. They were seeds,
Maybe...dustcloths, boxes.
Reading.
Oh Chrissa.....I absolutely love this!! A perfect start to Poetry Month!
ReplyDelete"dark as unlaid ink" and "new edges curled against the emptiness". These are such deep and wonderful lines! That novel will be utterly delicious when it is truly in print, and it will be one day...it will!!