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[ january twenty-third ]
by Ava Bluthere are spots on my glasses I refuse to clean,
my expired contacts coil on my finger tips,
and my lungs are drying out;
this is what we tried to talk about,
to air the monotony,
but you've got bigger windows to break
while I'm stuck holding the tape. 01/23/2007
Author's Note: sigh
Posted on 01/24/2007
Copyright © 2024 Ava Blu
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 01/24/07 at 03:42 AM I have to admit, this one didn't kick my ass as well as the other ones have. It's a million miles from an off-day, but it's definately not the strongest. Though I do love the last stanza. |
| Posted by Kyle Anne Kish on 01/25/07 at 04:37 PM "... but you've got bigger windows to break
while I'm stuck holding the tape." I love the way you packed a punch in the end of this poem. Also, your line breaks are truly well done. "Monotony" ... truly something we all deal with, right? This is a vivid, touching, gentle write. |
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