Welcome to the universe of “small,”
where black and tortured moods creep in, prevail:
We tend to talk too much, or not at all,
taut-stretched on verbal racks, and hard as nails.
I’m feeling gusts that blow the truth around,
now venturing one eye into that cave
(so desolate the light and oozing brown),
I recognize myself, but cannot save
Some meaning of this day to justify
more conversations ending in a draw.
Pointing east and west and not to fly:
Convoluted love a rasping “Caw!”
And finally, alone. |
Silent back to back on shaky bough,
we want to say, to ask, but don’t know how.
Kay Weeks
1.9.2012
Poem, photos: KW
2 comments:
Well said. " Be swift to hear, slow to speak and slow to wrath."
I'll take quiet. Harve in Hanoi
Fabulous dark poem, Kay! Just having a quick shuftie at your site and this sone really 'caw't my eye.
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