Scribd Twofers: A poem and an essay


Art

Shapes in
raw granite, 
a person.
An unaware,
apathetic block-
head
staring blankly 
in the mirror,
hammered and sanded.

From top
to toe, 
mouths run - 
collecting minerals -
dribbling away.
Forward springs life,
etching down
the drain.

Rock chips
stumble over
each other.
Dust finds home
on rough edges - 
inevitably the floor,
cracks in my dry,
clay-soaked hands,
and cloth folds  
wherever paint
doesn’t already cling. 

The eyes:
pained,
long set.
A muscular beauty,
the rest,
one casual greeting 
at a time.

In and out
of days,
nights fitting
somewhere between, 
apparently. 
I work.

Leave a Comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s