drink my tea, my conventions,
early morning, dark outside,
i eat an apple.
my head is weary.
time is inexorable, comes then goes.
i stand silently screaming :
what was, what could have been,
and the flurry of interpretations.
a sudden gust leaves them as a crumpled mess of papers in the corner of the room.
the door swings, windows bang.
No comments:
Post a Comment