Slow but sure, we are gathering entrants for this year's NaPoWriMo writing marathon. If you want to join the relentless horde, let me know at reenhead-at-gmail-dot-com, or in the comments box. In the meantime, my warm-up continues . . .
Time Machine
The great moth marks
Silence with neurotic
Wings, sixfold footsteps
Skittering over tin tiles,
Earth in spacious increments
Always cluttering about
Beneath the machine,
A body turning always
Over its own axle,
Noisy unto ingratitude.
Whatever clock marks
hours, whatever lost
Hands mark the life,
The moth swims space
Continually away,
Or else, a prodigal, turns
In dreams or hours,
In memory, unnatural
Air that lifts
The purposed weight,
Green wings baffling
Invisible currents
Todaytomorrowyesterday
A neuron that ages
But kites and kites the air.
posted by Reen |link| 0 comments
