Saturday, March 12, 2011

Writing In That Kitchen

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.
And back.
This room,
That cold basement -
Teenaged weekends.
Life turned a corner.


No comments:

Post a Comment

Say something.