Sunday, January 23, 2011


She knew when the refrigerator light went out
that so much more would fall apart.

Words no longer transmitted between
heart and hand, no feeling in the fingertips.

The sun began to erode into winter,
bright but without the substance of warmth

or happiness, what about happiness?
No longer a funny kitten with a limp

or a dog with one eye. It’s the small things
that slowly leave us. Like dusk to sundown

queer indigo space where nothing matters
just a fraction of what used to be before it disappears.

With everythig in shreds, she revels
in the null of quiet white spaces.

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