The Dust
The dust stirs
as it stirs,
simple and quiet,
all around me.
The voice
of the speaker,
many miles
away,
I feel that emptiness
surround me,
like a nothingness
I just can’t
ignore, but I don’t want to ask,
are you feeling that way too?
And I like this fear,
this moment held above the earth,
hovering like a note on a violin
before all hell breaks loose.January 13th, ’11
The Worry
In this room, like pictures
in a foggy way
it gets too dark to stay
and all the travelers part and ask
which way?
Did you follow
them so crooked-
ly I ask and watch
the seasons wither voluntarily
the skin of a picture, not a picture
no, but a way that always seems
to go, vulnerable
ability, and ask,
these parting ways
it seems are more than laughing
where the meaning strays?January 16th, ’11
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