Saturday, August 22, 2009

to disappear (12/30)

I ring the pillow dry of tears. Snot.
Stars line up and disappear,
line up and stand in line for what?
To disappear.

Yeats is all worn down. The
page where one man loved your
pilgrim soul is all worn down.

drg o9

1 comment:

  1. dena this last stanza here is brilliant, and i don't, don't toss that word around with writing, it is the one thing i'm careful about with my comments in all venues. i am so glad i read it. it rolls around like a stone in my mouth, strangely satsifying and beautiful.