I was shanghaied into reading A Midsummer Night's Dream last night, despite my snarling that it couldn't possibly be as good as a tragedy. Turns out that, despite not being the same as a tragedy, it is still quite good. Hmm.
Anyway. I seem to be on a bloggy roll, so enjoy (or don't) another fractured poem. Encoded journal entry. Twilight prose. Whatever.
Writing in that kitchen,
Like an already long gone
In the dark, now sterile room -
Waves steal in quietly
And wash back.
That cold basement -
Life turned a corner.