lazy poetry (or) stone becomes sand (a poem)

Tuesday August 23, 2011

we pass so many u-haul trucks

on our darkened streets
that I am filled with an overwhelming sense
of the constant ending and starting of the universe

it is the feeling of having such a strong emotion with no name
that the stale sunset's wake overcomes us and everything is poetry

u-haul trucks line the dark streets of my alma mater
separating students from the roads that brought them there

cycles cycles
and poetry no more has to rhyme
than rocks thrown through windows
are required to have notes
to explain themselves
star trek

"oowoop" are you okay?
I just made a strange sound
and I am concerned that everything is poetry
or something might not be

seen through windows
hands take bowls from cabinets
hands put bowls into cabinets
and the cabinets are not the same
but love for them remains

This post was originally hosted elsewhere.