Thursday, March 4, 2010

sitting here in the rain

sitting here in the rain
I cannot see
your wind-wild eyes
watching me
somehow time stopped
long ago
only moths and mysteries
remember when
but now
water like a flood
pours into my flesh
my vision fails
and I look out upon
rain-beaten worlds
twisting and floating
down they fall
hard to concrete
like the empty green bottle
I smashed yesterday
under the dock


I wrote a lot of stuff like this when I was seventeen. I kept a notebook by the bed and tried to write a poem a day. Most of them were more troubled than profound. I recall that puzzled me then, as it does now, since my teen years were essentially stable and secure. Only my best friend saw my writings, and she shared her secret writings with me. At the time, we thought our stuff was brilliant :)

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