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là
by Jo Hallidaythere is the page curled. somewhere
rain seeped through to it. water that reaches
and dissolves ink. pages curled, and all, every
discourse on white space, punctuation and parole is, but,
is but a beautiful pulp that goes back to wood
and the woods it all came from.
touch the rolled swimming letters, I feel the surging blood
of humanity and sun in me, every drop of life that blesses
and blood that seeps.
Drips the hair today, nose, and hands empty.
07/28/2011 Posted on 07/28/2011
Copyright © 2025 Jo Halliday
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 07/28/11 at 09:24 PM Ah yes, but your words are hardly empty Jo. They have a sense of reality most of us miss. Nice write. |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 07/28/11 at 09:30 PM Nothing empty about this. It's got enough life for a small Midwest town. Fantastic. |
| Posted by Linda Fuller on 07/28/11 at 11:27 PM Ici, my consciousness expands, thanks to your words. |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 07/29/11 at 02:51 AM I love the "beautiful pulp" line. Rain is many times present in your poems - immersion suits you. |
| Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 07/30/11 at 02:43 PM Namaste |
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