July 24, 2009


I knew from the beginning,
fantasy and friction,
inconsistency and distortion,
and the power of fragments.

There's a scream
very like an owl,
a light behind my eyelids.

I miss my ghosts.

In this strange haven,
lonesome hysteria
makes me wonder,
and I wrestle with doubt.
I could step off--

a leaf falling unnoticed.

1 comment:

Paul said...

That is a very strong and alive poem and the ending devolving into a soft glide gives great contrast to the preceding volume and intensity.