Confessional

Write chunks of white poetry on black night.
Your poetry must be of your narcissistic self

Morbidly touching the way an old tree waves
In your darkness, a schoolgirl laughs in sleep

Over yesterday’s homework in waving paper
Below a basement, between pictures of gods.

Poetry is confessional, some redness in face
Looking into crevices to let things not sleep.

A sleep alone will deliver up your confession
As you turn to your side to face a blank wall

Where  beginning , middle are not pictured
And the end turns out to be a breath, a lack.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s