July 27 - 2:53 p.m. on a Tuesday
by Jason Wardell
I am building a monster carcass,
a headstone, a monument to 2:53 p.m.
on a Tuesday, when I sat in the shade
and heat, sweat pooling around my glass,
my deep breath of a blank page inaudible
against the daily cacophony of old air
and thin lines, pen stuttering, voice
smearing, I am filling these with sound,
I am leaving these empty, I am doing less
with more, threading solid lines through
months, breathing shallowly, facing the
empty page sighing with potential
and echoes of promises to make good.
Posted on 07/28/2010
Copyright © 2021 Jason Wardell
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Max Bouillet on 07/28/10 at 12:39 AM|
Pregnant with possibility but no birth, yet. Uncomfortable and awkward as you read about screams in braille. This conveys the blank page well. It is a bit ironic as you have written it rather exquisitely.
|Posted by Morgan D Hafele on 07/28/10 at 02:42 PM|
|Posted by Tom Goss on 07/28/10 at 03:23 PM|
Perfect form, flow, and emotion!