"nothnig" poems
Dense and deep, the darkness
finds us at the table
with the leftovers of the day
still scattered around.
Quiet.
Silence is garrulous.
Eyes glued to nothnig.
Mind ever-moving.
Timeless images.
Pictures in black and white
clipped, disconnected.
The soul insensible to tears.
Perishing is unmitigated pain.
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 7:37 AM UTC