Its hands like linked sausages,
Crafting stories from sticky,
MAGNETS,
The refrigerator takes,
Snipping and pasting and scraping and click
Adventures through the mind,
Without the mind,
Thinking of dresses and thin cloth,
Of
Sweeping hardwood
Of
Crouching Low
It decides to draw,
Fit a pencil between the thumbs,
The scribbles fitting into other scribbles, clashing, rising,
Drop it and
Fumble the workings of a mother's blade,
(She would use it to kill),
Slice through one line, One feathery line,
And
Slice it ALL,
And
Scrabble to peel,
And
Match the clean to a
Pristine Image
Of a lazy, bubbling stream.
~ Inspiration: A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini ~
YOU ARE READING
To Nowhere
Poetry|| a book of poems || This is a twisting, turning oblivion of madness. This is watching the sun touch the horizon and wishing for your hopes and dreams to appear among the stars. This is the road to nowhere.
