1971

There’s a

fragility acquired by

certain   things as they age: ideas,

instruments.

People for       instance

show tiny          fissures

that blossom            and burst into complex patterns

across their faces,

showing deep into chasms far darker                           but

it’s all nothing: a million

tiny surface tensions        cracking out

along wood stressed by             sunlight

and heat,  slid out from                          under

against                                                    a tired eye trying to

blink. Meaning moves

between the cracks         you wish

nobody saw.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s