Against the Poetic Avant-Garde.

Monday 26 October 2009

Reading.

Alone.
The world turned off.
The blinds closed.
Reading this
in the midst of yourself.
With nobody around.
The window shivering.
Your voice lost,
unheard.
Unaided in your thoughts.
Moving your lips
while stumbling over words,
in the centre of forgotten time.
Alone.

Your name is Legion.