Sunday, January 22, 2012

Dress
It's what happens all in time
As she tries to save her grace
A long dress torn into lines of white linen
Deeper,
Deeper,
Deeper,
She tries to salvage her grace
It's what happens in desperate time
This fall, this tattered hopelessness in torn linen

Name
I met a stranger at funeral procession. I wondered who had died.
The stranger said: A life as a problem unresolved.
I asked if he knew the departed as a name.
He said, No.
I looked around at old faces, and could speak to no one.
I just walked and wondered who had died.

3 comments:

booguloo said...

Scary.

HK said...

Of all the names I write,
I wonder how many of them I really know!!!

Systematic Weasel said...

Rather interesting work here! Very well written stuff. The repetition of Deeper really puts more emphasis on the poem as a whole =3