Sunday, February 22, 2009


Where the cement met beauty,
a story flung itself out a window.
Furious and broken both,
There were shards of this and that - raw and fast -
blanketing the shock of is.

Awhile later, in a numbed café
important pieces got dropped.
Left to rot, then, on dusty floors;
no sweeping nor wiping nor shuffling away -
only a faded capture of once.

It was in this place:
the chairs, the stars -
where days turned to ever
(good-bye lovers),
a just was sought
but then never delivered.

And so it was thus,
That not became was.

No comments:

Post a Comment