Thursday, April 02, 2009

re-posting: milk & sky

came back to
type type type
again -
the stubborn
clack clack clack
& go & go, of the hands,
their tips, their ends

to write a little poem
they clumsily

but then
they've forgotten
the way

the white milk
trapped in the tall glass
seems to be clearly
mocking them

mmm, milk?
and poems?...

and they remember then
those deeper
and sadder
yet writer-er
when little poems
came easily
yes! ... those days

and instead of a poem
the tips lazily
don't write but

re-post, so then
from June 17 of the
Two Thousand and Seven
this came

milk & sky

Morning &
I’ll walk out the door of my existence
facing a bright blue sky
Spilled like hot milk
On a warm morning stove
minute white clouds hop around

dazzling blue cuts this sorrow
the milk melted, was your eyes

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