Wednesday, January 25, 2012

5 second poem

That's how long it takes, about.
give or take the number of swats
--or in my case, bangs-- with a bedside book
or a bare hand if I really am that desperate for silence...

Every time I kill a fly I forget what killing feels like.

I mean, I hear the buzzing and I see the blackness and I feel annoyance.

I wonder if Mr. Miyagi was a fly in a former incarnation.
Maybe I was too.

Perhaps that is what Emily meant when she died and there was a solitary buzz
then--

--nothing--

No comments:

Post a Comment